Prom Night
by PlayerPiano
Summary: A re-imagining of the Corpse Bride story, set in 1950's America.
1. Chapter 1

**Prom Night**

 **1**

Billy stuffed the last of the evening editions into his satchel, and then hopped on his bike. It was May, warm and light out at five-thirty in the evening. Lovely Friday. Billy just had to get these papers delivered, and then it would be goodbye to the last week of May, 1953, and on to a weekend of baseball down at the school field. And only a few weeks left of school, and he'd be free of sixth grade. And it was pork chop night. Billy had lots to be cheerful about as he kicked off from the curb outside the newspaper office.

Down the neat and proper main street he went, past Van Dort's Plumbing Supplies and Hardware with the big green awning, a prosperous building that took up nearly a block. He pedaled past Burton's grocery and Dietz's Shoes, on past the little bookshop and the ladies' clothing store, the five and ten and the diner. Billy whipped a paper each toward the front doors of these last two.

The town square opened up at the end of Main Street. The enormous oak trees were just starting to leaf above the bandstand. The nicest big buildings in town anchored the green. The bank and the courthouse were serious brick, with imposing front doors and a sense of solidity about them. The church was classic white with a steeple and a clock, as if it had been plucked from New England and dropped here in the Midwest by mistake.

As he whizzed by, Billy saw Judge Barkis coming down the steps of the courthouse. A little too late he raised his hand in a respectful kind of wave. But the judge didn't see him. He was talking to his son, who was coming down the steps behind him. At least Billy assumed that was his son. They looked just alike, big-chinned and barrel-chested in their nice suits, except one was old and one was young. The two of them got into the back of an expensive-looking car that was idling by the steps as Billy went by.

Billy faced forward again after turning to admire the nice car just in time to avoid hitting an even nicer one. Quickly he swerved and narrowly missed the bumper of Mr. Everglot's car, which was parked in front of the bank. The driver, a guy nearly as grumpy as his employer, leaned out the open window to shake a fist. Billy pedaled faster.

On he rode past the church, making sure to hold up his hand and cross his fingers when he passed by the graveyard, steering his bike one-handed. Not that Billy was really a superstitious kind of kid. But it couldn't hurt. Next came the park and the high school, then the little wooden bridge over the river. Technically he wasn't supposed to be riding his bike on the pedestrian bridge, but it wasn't like Officer Galswells was going to collar him or anything. If he was lucky, that was.

Down the row of little tract houses he went, throwing papers with practiced aim. He'd been doing this route so long he barely had to slow down. Billy waved to some kids he knew from school, and shouted a greeting to a pack of boys playing basketball in Ben Berger's driveway. House after house, lawn after lawn, porch after porch, newspaper after newspaper. Mr. Hemmler, the assistant principal at the high school, happened to be out watering his garden when Billy rode up. He turned off the hose and limped over, taking his newspaper and handing Billy a small tip. Mr. Hemmler was an okay guy.

At the base of Nob's Hill Billy stopped. End of his line. The rich folks didn't take the local paper. Not from him, anyway. Billy did a little victory lap on his bicycle, and then headed home for dinner. He could taste those pork chops already.

0-0

Nob's Hill was a hill in only the barest technical sense, in that it was on a rise of land only slightly higher than the rest of the town. It had a modest view of the river, pretty on clear days. At the very top of the hill sat the local country club, as if it were on a throne. Everybody who was anybody belonged to the club. The bankers and financiers, the lawyers and judges, the newspaper owners, all the upper echelons of a small town.

There were only a handful of houses on the hill. The ones that were there were practically estates. They stood in sharp contrast to the little cookie-cutter tract houses and modest Victorians that made up the other residential streets. Set beneath gorgeous oaks and behind hedges and gates, these houses spelled Money. With a capital "M."

Two mansions sat directly opposite each other about midway up Nob's Hill. One was a home which had been in the family for generations, nearly a century old now. Built of stately brick and adorned with tasteful porches and a portico, it was a house in good taste, a timeless sort of house that spoke of old-fashioned gentility. Solid and square and built to last.

The one across the street, on the other hand, was Sears & Roebuck's idea of a grand Victorian. Multi-colored, so much gingerbread trim it gave the effect of an over-decorated wedding cake, a huge wrap-around porch, all topped off with a tower. It was barely a decade old, and it certainly made an impression. Not always a _good_ one, but an impression nonetheless.

In a relatively small second-floor bedroom of the newer house, Victor Van Dort was working on one of his model planes. He really should have been working on his final project for biology, if he wanted to graduate with a C average, but Victor figured it didn't really matter. He'd already bought his way into a university.

Or rather, his dad had bought it for him, in the form of new showers in one of the older dorms. Victor's dad was the Water Fixture King of the tri-state area. Even the thought made Victor cringe a little. It would've been nice to _earn_ his place at the state school instead of buy one at a private college he didn't even want to attend. To study business, of course, so that he could one day take the plumbing supplies crown. Victor cringed harder.

And talking of not wanting to attend...Victor wiped a stray blot of glue from his desk and glanced over at the tuxedo hanging from his door. Just as quickly he glanced away again.

With the pride of a job well done, Victor gently placed the plane on top of his dresser to dry. He'd very nearly finished the whole World War One series. Sometime this week he should stop in at the five and dime after school to pick up the next.

Victor set about tidying up his makeshift worktable. A look at the clock on his bedside table told him he had plenty of time. Just because Mom had taken the entire afternoon to primp and prepare didn't mean he had to. Victor's mother was driving herself into a tizzy over this whole country club thing. Victor didn't understand what was so exciting about it. Who wanted to play golf and tennis and have dinner with a bunch of rich, snobby strangers who had never given them the time of day before?

It was at times like this Victor found it easiest to pretend his family was not the richest in town. Richer even than the Everglots across the street, and Mr. Everglot was a bank president. Being wealthy made him uncomfortable. Not that he was a Communist or anything. It was just that he was far too unremarkable and shy for being rich. The world of the nobs wasn't for him, no matter how much money Dad made or how many parties Mom dragged him to. He'd overheard enough conversations at stuffy dinner parties to know that no rich men cared about airplanes or playing the piano or reading horror comics.

Again, Victor looked at his tux, pristine in its clear garment bag. Dinner at the country club. He was now a member of the country club. Well, he and his parents. Mom and Dad were thrilled. Victor was worried about using the wrong fork. The thought of sitting for hours with the kind of people his parents were so desperate to impress made him tired and nervous. So to get his mind off things he started putting his paints away.

He had plenty of time. And maybe if he procrastinated enough the club's board would have time to change its mind and revoke their membership and he wouldn't have to worry about it anymore.

A guy could dream.

0-0

In the older, statelier house across the street, Victoria Everglot was unpacking her school trunk with Hildegarde, the family's maid. The private schools finished earlier than the public ones did, so Victoria's summer vacation had already begun. Emil, the family's driver and butler, had picked her up at the station before heading out to pick up Dad at the bank. Victoria hadn't seen Mother yet, only heard her talking angrily into the telephone in the parlor as she'd gone by. Better to let Mother cool down a bit before finding her to say hello. Who knew what had happened this time. Something related to double-booked luncheon speakers again, probably.

A long summer stretched ahead. Home for a couple of weeks to garden and play tennis at the club and try to generally fly under Mother's radar. Then charm school for a month. An entire month. With a mother who, among other things, had made her walk up and down stairs with a book on her head for years, Victoria thought she had most of the basics of etiquette and how to sit and stand and walk. Perhaps she could test out early.

"Thank you, Hildegarde," Victoria said as the maid carried a full basket of school uniforms to be laundered out of the room. A kindly smile was her only response. Alone, Victoria shut her trunk and pushed it into place at the foot of her bed. It was always nice to be in her own bed after her room at school. The pillows there were too hard, the blankets scratchy. And it all smelled a bit wrong.

Victoria patted her bedspread affectionately, then folded a quilt and placed it just so on top of her trunk. There. The school year was well and truly finished now. She was so looking forward to a nice, quiet evening at home. A book and perhaps the radio, tucked up in her window seat. It had been a long week of examinations and then a long trip home, and Victoria was ready to rest.

She'd only just finished changing into a fresh comfortable dress when she heard the car pull up. She walked over to the open bedroom door as she tied her hair back with a frayed ribbon. Victoria hadn't seen her Dad for months. He'd been on a business trip when she'd been home for Easter. It would be polite to go say hello.

Before she even reached the threshold she heard her parents in the foyer. Mother's tone carried up the sweeping staircase and echoed off the cathedral ceiling. Not promising. Victoria paused where she was to assess the situation. It might be better to stay in her room until summoned.

"Where on earth have you been, Finis?" Mother was saying. "We're due at the club at seven, and it's nearly six!"

Dad mumbled something gruff but inaudible. Victoria hoped "we" didn't include her.

"It's the new member's dinner tonight," Mother said darkly.

"And?" Dad asked. Victoria could hear them climbing the stairs now.

"Our _new members_ are _those_ people."

"What people?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Finis, do you ever listen when I talk to you? I told you last week that they'd applied. That was Mavis on the telephone, and she says they _got in_. The Van Dorts belong to our country club!"

Mother delivered this news as if revealing a twist at the end of the second act of a melodrama. No wonder she was angry. Mother had very little time for their neighbors across the street. Showy and loud and they worked for their money. Mrs. Van Dort still had the kind of accent that spoke of the poorer neighborhoods in the city, and she used it at top-volume. Mother's list went on and on about everything wrong with the Van Dorts. Victoria had heard it all so many times she had it by heart.

Victoria didn't really know them, but she didn't think they were that bad. Mother was a bit of a snob, sad to say.

"I do wonder who sponsored them," Mother mused. "And for them to be granted membership! They'll let in anyone nowadays. I mean, ' _Van Dort'_?"

"Now, don't be that way."

Mother and Dad had reached her room by now. Dad was loosening his tie as he walked past. He spared her the briefest of nods.

"Evening, Victoria," he grunted, and then moved on. Mother hung back, arms crossed. She was already dressed in her formal dinner dress, steely hair and modest makeup impeccable. Her diamonds caught the light of the sun setting outside Victoria's window, throwing a little rainbow on the wall.

"Come along now, get cleaned up and dressed," Mother told her. "We're dining at the club tonight."

There went her dreams of a cozy night in. Victoria bit back a sigh as Mother swept into her room, her eagle eyes casting about to make sure everything was proper and tidy. She caught Hildegarde's eye as the maid came down the hall with an armload of fresh towels.

"Run a bath, and then do something with her hair, will you, Hildegarde? She looks a fright."

"Yes, ma'am," said Hildegarde, with a small look of sympathy at Victoria. Soon the sound of the bath running reached them.

Mother had bent toward Victoria's vanity mirror to prod at her already perfect hair as Victoria sank down on the end of her bed. The mere thought of going to the club tonight made her tired. She really didn't like the country club, the whole atmosphere was so gossipy and tight and oppressive. It was nice to play tennis, yes, but that was about it.

"Be sure to wear something suitable this time," Mother went on, looking at Victoria over her shoulder in the mirror. "Not one of your ghastly frumpy sweater sets. Wear that blue dress of yours, the one you wore to your father's birthday dinner."

"Yes, Mother," said Victoria, who always felt very smart in her sweater sets.

Finally Mother, satisfied with her reflection, turned to leave. On the way out she turned, as if just remembering something. "Make an _effort_ , Victoria," she said, a definite warning in her tone that bordered on a threat. "Bartholomew Barkis will be there tonight. He's back from his first year at law school, and I have it on good authority that he'd like to make your acquaintance again."

Victoria very much doubted that Barry Barkis would be able to pick her out of a line-up, let alone be looking forward to seeing her. But she tried to sound enthusiastic when she replied, "All right, Mother."

Mother plainly didn't buy it for a second, but all she did was cut her eyes in a warning way before she left.

Dinner at the club. As she bathed and washed her hair, Victoria had a vision of decades of dinners at the club. Now that high school was nearly finished, she'd found that her feet were planted firmly at the top of the path that her parents expected of her. Quite without her consent.

A year or two at the local state college, studying something bland and inoffensive—English, maybe. Never mind that she was only mediocre when it came to English, and that her real passion was botany. It didn't matter. No one actually expected her to take a degree. It was understood that she'd drop out to get married, sooner rather than later. Again, never mind that the only thing she was less remarkable at than English was dealing with boys. Victoria'd never had a date in her life.

Somehow, though, her mother would dig up someone for her. Someone from the club, most likely. Son of a lawyer or a judge or maybe an up-and-comer from Dad's bank. Somebody like Barry Barkis. The same young men her mother had been fruitlessly thrusting at her for years at one function or another. The older Victoria got, the more excruciatingly embarrassing it was. Seventeen and never so much as a kiss. Or even a dance, beyond the odd duty-dance with boys who seemed desperate to get away from her and find a more interesting girl.

But anyway. She'd marry, live in a house very much like the one she grew up in, and pass the endless run of days very much the way her mother did. Dinner parties, a largely absent husband, the country club, luncheons, bridge. No color, no festivity, no romance. Just boring endless gray days.

This train of thought was depressing.

Glum, Victoria pulled on her nice blue dress, the one with the cap sleeves and full skirt. Then she sat at the vanity and picked up her hairbrush, deciding to get a head start before Hildegarde came back to help her.

 **Author's Note:**  
I was inspired to write this after seeing a piece of Corpse Bride fanart, which I cannot for the life of me find again. It was a high school AU, set in the 1990's, a picture of Victor, Victoria and Emily in updated clothes. The person who drew it elaborated, saying Emily would've died in the 1970's, and that the story would be more of a romantic comedy. The idea really stayed with me, and I ran with it. But I moved it to the American Midwest of the 1950's, as prim and proper a place as Victorian England in some ways. The tone of this one is also a romantic teen comedy, rather than a fairytale. It will be fun to see how this shakes out! Reviews welcome, and thanks for reading! And thank you, mysterious person, for the inspiration!


	2. Chapter 2

2

 _"Oh!_ " Mom breathed. "Will you just _look!_ The grandeur! The _opulence_!"

"Nice lawn," Dad said amiably.

Victor had nothing to add.

Mayhew, their driver, pulled away in the old Packard sedan, leaving Victor feeling abandoned. He wished he could spend the evening with the help. Given that this was the Nob Hill Country Club, there were plenty of drivers and other staff around.

The country club was an old-money institution. The place looked like a half-timber castle, tower and everything. It sprawled along the top of Nob Hill, and the grounds and golf course extended all the way down the other side of the rise. At the front was an enormous porch stretching the length of the building. At the back were French doors which opened onto a terrace. From there a beautifully manicured and only slightly sloping lawn went down to the water's edge.

Victor felt uncomfortable the second he stepped inside. It was clear upon their arrival that they were all overdressed. Dad's top hat and tails made him look a bit like the Monopoly man next to the other men in their gray or navy suits. Mom was a cloud of aqua chiffon and glittering bangles. Among the society ladies she looked like a peacock among pastel swans. Somehow he had the feeling that the building itself was asking all three of them, in an icy polite Victorian way, to leave immediately without a fuss.

But nobody stopped them. Mom and Dad walked arm in arm through the lobby, turning and exclaiming at every throw rug, vase, or chandelier. Victor trailed along behind them. The heavy drapes and solid furniture reminded him of his great-aunt Mildred's house. Less dusty and smelled less of cats, though. And a lot more light.

"Nice view of Dead Man's Bridge!" Dad remarked as they passed a huge picture window in the hall outside the dining room. Dusk was just starting to deepen, but the big bridge over the river was still visible. That bridge was older than the town, and was shored up by rather impressive masonry.

"Dead Man's Bridge?" asked Victor. "I've never heard it called that before."

"Oh yes," Dad said cheerfully. "Seems ever since they built that bridge there have been accidents. First man in town to have a car had the first crash on it! And that awful one back in '36. Right before you were born, Victor. Couple of kids on their way to a dance. Car went right over the side. The boy got himself out somehow, but the girl didn't."

Victor cringed. "Awful," he said, looking at the bridge differently now. In the dark it suddenly looked ominous, a hulking shape spanning dark depths below. He imagined a car still down there somewhere. With someone still in it. The image was crystal clear in his mind, like a picture out of the horror comics he found so entertaining and so repulsive in equal measure. The green murky water, a rusted car, a skeleton with long hair...

"Come _on_!" Mother hissed at his elbow. Victor jumped.

The dining room was already crowded. The walls were painted a deep rose, and the carpet was plush with intricate red and gold designs that made Victor feel a little seasick to look at them. Elegantly set tables filled most of the space. On the far side of the room a long buffet table was set up under a set of enormous windows, crowded with silver chafing dishes and manned by men in livery.

Mom was overcome. "I imagine this must be what having a luncheon with the First Lady would be like," she said, hand to her expansive aqua bosom.

"Yes, we're rubbing elbows with the real nobs now," agreed Dad. He winked at Victor over his shoulder. Victor tried to grin back. He was starting to sweat uncomfortably in his tux.

Unsure of where to go next, the Van Dorts hung about by the entrance and tried to look like they belonged there. A big banner was strung up, reading _Welcome, New Members_. But the rest of the club didn't seem to be as welcoming as their banner. Richly dressed people, the lawyers and brokers and bankers and doctors and their wives, strode about purposefully and gracefully, greeting each other with cocktails and conversation.

It was so clear that the Water Fixture King, Queen, and Crown Prince did not belong here. Victor checked his watch and was disappointed to find only ten minutes had gone by. He sighed.

"Oh, look, here come the Everglots!" said Dad suddenly. He raised a hand. "Hello there, neighbor!"

Mr. and Mrs. Everglot, who had just passed them on their way into the dining room, stopped. Almost as a unit they slowly turned around.

"Hello!" gushed Mom. "Oh my, Maudeline, I _love_ that gown. So elegant! Did you get yours at Fischer's? Only place I ever shop!"

Mrs. Everglot recoiled slightly at the sight of Mom's dress. Instead of answering, she raised her impressive chin and looked down at her short, portly husband.

"Oh look, Finis dear, it's our newest members," she said, curling her lip in a way that was just barely a smile. Her eyes raked over Victor and his parents, clearly judging all the while. From the set of her mouth and the way she sniffed, they all three came up woefully short. Victor looked out at the bridge, wishing he was out of this overheated room and out enjoying a nice walk.

Victor's parents, though, clearly felt up to this challenge. So they grinned and enthused and held the Everglots captive for a few minutes, while Victor tried to disappear into the wallpaper.

"Well, it's been lovely to see you, welcome to the club," Mr. Everglot interrupted Mom's high praise of the floral arrangements in a tone that suggested genuine physical pain.

"Oh, thank you so much!" Mom trilled. "It's such an _honor_ to be part of such an institution."

"The golf course is quite nice," Mr. Everglot agreed.

"Well, this has been _charming_ ," said Mrs. Everglot. "We'll leave you to mingle. Come along, Finis, I see Mavis and Donald."

"So high and mighty," Mom muttered at their backs. Her face darkened. "We're every bit as good as they are."

"Well said, Nell dear," Dad soothed. "Come on, you heard her. Let's mingle. Introduce ourselves around, hand out some cards...where'd I put those...?"

"Right," said Mom, snapping out of it and squaring her shoulders. "We're expected to mingle. Let's _mingle_."

"Mingle," said Victor quietly to himself, standing awkward and alone near the door after his parents melted into the crowd. "Mingle with who?"

At a loss, he wandered over to check out the buffet. As he inspected the biggest and most elaborate shrimp cocktail he'd ever seen in his life, Victor caught the conversation of two men nearby. He straightened up and turned to look.

The younger man wasn't that much older than Victor. His face was familiar but he couldn't immediately place it. A head shorter than Victor, he was barrel-chested and broad-chinned, with fair hair. Not bad looking. He was the type of guy who made Victor feel like a scrawny, nerdy beanpole. Well, more so than usual.

"I don't want to take her on a date," the young man was saying, his tone frustrated. "She can't dance, and she's so quiet it's creepy."

What a problem to have. So many girls you could refuse to go on a date with one. Victor wondered what it might be like to have that problem. Girls mostly treated Victor with total indifference, as if he was just part of the background of their lives. He sidled a little closer, wondering if eavesdropping counted as mingling.

"One evening, that's all we're asking, Barry," said the older man, who Victor now recognized as the local judge. "She's perfectly fine. And they're a good old family. Help you get over what's-her-name, if nothing else."

Barry didn't reply.

"Can we help you?" asked Judge Barkis, noticing Victor hovering nearby. Barry turned and looked Victor up and down. Victor felt his cheeks get warm. Three swift, snobbish, disapproving elevator looks in as many minutes. It was three too many.

"Ah," began Victor. The judge and Barry waited. Desperate, Victor blurted out the first thing he could think of.

"Do you know where the men's room is?" he asked. An involuntary nervous chuckle followed the question. The men stared at him.

Finally, after an excruciating pause, the Judge pointed to a set of double doors to the other side of the buffet.

"Just through there," he said. "To your left."

"Thanks," Victor said meekly, ears burning. In his haste to flee the scene he almost tripped over his own feet. As he practically ran to the exit he could feel dozens of eyes boring into his back.

Once safely through the doors, he found himself in yet another parlor-esque lobby. But this one was quiet, a dim forest of potted ferns and a few cushioned settees. A hatrack. A tasteful sign for the restrooms, as promised. And in the farthest corner, a baby grand piano sat, bench neatly tucked in, cover down. For the first time all night, Victor smiled.

No one was about. There was no sign near the piano that said "No Playing" or "Don't Touch." Victor checked. So he sat down and flexed his fingers. Soon he was lost in his usual warm-up tune.

The music was soothing. He played softly, quietly, just for himself. It was restorative. Now that he was alone and had some space and had something he was confident about, he felt a lot better. When the piece was finished, he enjoyed a moment of peace.

"You play beautifully," said a girl from behind him.

Victor jumped a mile, his heart skipping a beat and his knees banging painfully into the underside of the piano. He turned to see who had spoken.

Standing in the doorway of the hall to the restrooms was the Everglots' daughter, Victoria. She was very petite with enormous eyes. That was all Victor knew about her. Her compliment was the first sentence she'd ever spoken to him. Right now she looked alarmed.

"I didn't mean to startle you," she said, an apology in her voice. She held out her hands as if to show she came in peace.

"No no no, you didn't, it's fine," Victor replied hastily, almost crushing his fingers as he dropped the keyboard cover back into place. He stood and ran a hand through his hair. "Um, I was just...taking a moment. Um. Miss Everglot."

"There's no need to call me 'miss.' You can call me Victoria."

Something about her smile made him feel as if she'd reached into his chest and wrapped a warm, soft blanket around his heart. He swallowed.

"Oh. Okay. Victoria," he said, trying it out. "I...uh...I'm Victor. But, we're neighbors, so I guess you knew that..." he trailed off.

She came over to stand closer, hands folded demurely before her. She was wearing a very pretty blue dress. And she had a little spot of powder just next to her nose where she hadn't brushed it away properly. It was endearing, somehow.

"It's nice to meet you properly, Victor," she said. Then, reading him easily, she added, "I imagine this place takes a little getting used to, when you're new to it. I still don't feel entirely like I belong here, and I've been coming here since I was a child."

Her kind, easy, quiet laugh calmed something in Victor he hadn't realized needed calming. He chuckled a bit as well, relieved when it didn't come out sounding too awkward.

"But there are some nice things," she went on. "Tennis, if you play. A pool."

An image of Victoria in a bathing suit took over his mind just then, and it took a second to shake off. "Ah, yes. I mean, no, I don't play tennis. Or swim, really. But it all sounds, er, good."

Victoria just smiled. This time Victor returned it easily, not feeling awkward at all. He wished he could somehow bottle the feeling in the air between them right now and take it home to enjoy at leisure. How had he never talked to her before this? Why hadn't it occurred to him she could be so nice? Kindness seemed to radiate from her.

Victor very quickly decided he liked her. A lot.

"Victoria!"

They turned. Mrs. Everglot emerged through the double doors. " _What_ has been taking you so long? And what are you doing?"

She cast suspicious eyes over them both, her gaze lingering on Victor for a long moment. It was the kind of gaze that made him want to hold up his hands and plead total innocence. Victoria twisted her hands together.

"I was powdering my nose, Mother," replied Victoria, her tone submissive and apologetic. "Like you asked me to. And then I was just saying hello to Victor. He's new."

"I'm new," Victor agreed. He cleared his throat and stood up straight. Mrs. Everglot's eyes were cutting into him like razors. Apparently she saw no real threat, though, because she turned her attention to her daughter.

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" grumbled Mrs. Everglot, reaching out and rubbing at the side of Victoria's nose with her thumb. She must have noticed the powder. "Let's get you looking presentable. Everyone's sitting down. I think you'll be pleased with your seatmate."

With that, Mrs. Everglot took Victoria by the elbow and made to leave.

"Welcome to the club," Victoria managed to say before her mother swept her back into the dining room.

0—0

They didn't get another chance to talk again that night. Victor had been trapped at the new members' table toward the front of the room. His tablemates consisted of his parents and the Maitlands, who had sponsored them. Mr. Maitland was the editor and owner of the local paper. Advertisements for Van Dort's Plumbing had kept the paper solvent during some rough times, so the sponsorship at the club was a thank-you.

Victoria was a few tables away, and unfortunately had her back to him. She seemed to find reasons to look over her shoulder a lot more than was necessary, though. The Everglots were sharing a table with Judge Barkis and Barry, and another couple Victor didn't recognize. Then they all left well before Victor's parents were ready to call it a night.

But Victor thought about Victoria constantly. And over the course of the next week, Victor saw Victoria every day.

On Monday afternoon she was in the library downtown when he arrived to do some homework. They'd only said "hello," but they'd sat at the same table in comfortable silence, reading. Victor had also admired the way Victoria's calves flexed when she stood on tiptoe to retrieve a book. When she'd left, she'd given him a smile so sweet it had stayed with him all evening.

Tuesday she was in her front garden when he got back from school, and they'd chatted at her gate. They'd talked about her tulips, and about his still unfinished biology project. Wednesday he'd spied her through the window of the drugstore on his way home, and suddenly remembered it was time for the new issue of _Crypt of Terrors_. Then they'd walked home together. Victoria had listened very politely to his earnest discussion of horror comics, something no girl had ever done before. Thursday he was on his front porch pretending to read while he waited to see when she'd get home from her tennis lesson (four-thirty, in her tennis whites, still a little damp and disheveled in a very alluring kind of way).

By the time Friday rolled around Victor could barely make it through the school day, he was looking so forward to seeing her. Mr. Hemmler, the vice principal, had had to tap him on the shoulder before fifth period to remind him the bell had just rung and that he'd better get to class.

It was a good week. A good, good week.

When he was with her, he had the feeling of slipping into a warm bath. When he wasn't with her, he was reveling in the memory of what it was like spending time with her. To think, she'd been across the street all this time. Victor wished they'd met sooner. He wished he had more hours in the day, just so he could spend more with her.

Distracted and grinning, Victor narrowly missed mailboxes, streetlights, and fellow pedestrians all the way home from school. Victoria was in her front garden again this afternoon, he saw. He liked her gardening outfit. Rolled-up dungarees and an old flowery blouse. She looked up when she saw him approach. It was really flattering the way her eyes went bright when she saw him. Victor imagined he looked the same way at her.

"Hello!" Victor said, idling by the waist-high iron fence, happy just to be near her.

"Hello," she replied, sitting back and pulling off her dirty gardening gloves. She shielded her eyes against the afternoon sunlight with her hand as she looked up at him. They made a little small talk about their respective pretty boring days. Then Victoria asked, "Will you be at the cocktail party at the club tonight?"

"Mom wouldn't let me miss it," said Victor.

"Neither would mine," Victoria replied.

"Not really my sort of thing."

"Nor mine."

Emboldened by the week and his good mood and their easy banter, to say nothing of their mutual distaste for fancy parties, Victor said, "We could keep each other company. Maybe. If you wanted."

Once the words were out, Victor realized how clumsy they sounded. When Victoria's face lit up with a grin, he released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"Sounds like a lovely plan to me!" she said. Victor leaned against the fence and looked down at her. Hanging around with him sounded like a lovely plan. It was the nicest thing a girl had ever said to him. He'd be enjoying this feeling for a while.

"Say," said Victoria suddenly, "That reminds me. I went into town today to pick up my new dress for tonight, and there were a whole bunch of girls there in the shop."

So far this story was unremarkable, but Victor nodded politely and waited for the twist. "They were all talking about their prom dresses," Victoria went on. Then her tone shifted a bit, became slightly searching. She was looking at him closely, no longer shading her eyes. "I take it your school's prom is tomorrow. Were...did you...Were you planning to go?"

"No," said Victor dismissively. "I don't like dances. I didn't even realize it was this weekend. Oh! But that reminds me..."

Actually, he hadn't just remembered, he'd been anticipating this since he walked out of the five and ten on the way home today. He plucked a magazine from in between two of his schoolbooks. "Here, I got this for you. The new issue of _Gardens and Gardeners_ was in so I picked one up. There's a cover story about roses, and I remembered you wanted to plant some and..."

Victor trailed off, suddenly embarrassed. Victoria didn't look so bright and cheerful anymore. He'd thought this would be a nice little offering, but she looked disappointed. Oh no. What did he do wrong? His own grin faltered. The magazine flopped as he held it out to her over the fence.

"Thank you, that was thoughtful," Victoria replied, looking a little embarrassed herself. She took the magazine and glanced over the cover. "Lovely of you."

"You're welcome," said Victor, rubbing at the back of his neck. Something had shifted. But he didn't know what.

"Talking of plants," Victoria went on, a bit briskly, "I've got something for you. For your biology project."

She stood and brushed some soil off the knees of her jeans, and then reached for a potted tulip.

"My tulips just bloomed," she told him, with all the pride of a new mother. She held out the pot and Victor took it. "I made sure to give you a red one, you see, so you can run tests on the pigment."

"Wow, thank you," Victor said, looking it over. "You'll have to explain to me again about the flavoroids before I start, though."

"Flavonoids," she corrected gently.

"Oh."

From down the street came the sound of a car, and soon the Everglots' Buick hove into view. It turned grandly up the circular drive and came to a halt by the front portico. The driver got out and went around to open the back door, and out stepped Mrs. Everglot.

"Victoria! What are you doing wearing _dungarees_ in public?" Mrs. Everglot called by way of greeting as the driver shut the door behind her.

"I'm gardening, Mother," Victoria told her, gesturing at her tools and the half-upturned soil in the flower bed.

"And what's _he_ doing here?"

"Just on my way home and stopped by to say hello," Victor said quickly, having the sense to hide the tulip behind his back. "Hello."

By now Mrs. Everglot was striding up the short set of stairs. She paused and turned back toward the two of them, where they stood side by side but for the fence between them.

"If you're quite through grubbing about in the dirt, it's time to get ready for tonight's cocktail party," Mrs. Everglot said. "Goodbye, Victor." Her handbag swung as she waved him off. She did not go into the house, but plainly was going to wait until Victor made himself scarce.

The dismissal was not subtle. Victoria gave him a wave and an apologetic look, and mouthed _see you later_.

"Thanks for the tulip," he said, and he watched her collect her things and trot to join her mother by the door. As he turned to cross the street, Victor caught Mrs. Everglot telling Victoria off for having such dirty shoes.

It was too bad Mrs. Everglot wouldn't give Mom a chance, in Victor's opinion. They clearly had tons in common. They could trade notes on haranguing their children.

Happily Victor headed up to his room. With gentle care he gave the tulip pride of place on his desk, where it would catch the most light. It really was pretty. After he experimented he'd press and dry whatever was left of it. Just to have.

As he changed out of his school clothes Victor replayed his most recent time with Victoria. He wanted to keep enjoying the feeling. But why had it gone strange? She'd given him a plant. They were going to keep each other company tonight. What had he said? Was it the 'maybe' he'd tacked on to his invitation? Did he buy the wrong magazine? Was it because he said he didn't like dances? He'd just assumed Victoria didn't like them either.

It wasn't until he was buttoning his shirt that realization dawned. He froze.

Could it be? Was that it? Victoria wanted him to ask her to prom?


	3. Chapter 3

**3**

Victoria'd been so sure. So sure Victor was about to ask her for a date.

Mother, surprisingly, hadn't said a word after Victor had left. Victoria had been waiting for an inquisition. But Mother had simply given her a long, searching look before heading upstairs to prepare for the cocktail party. So Victoria, wondering, had followed suit.

She sat at her vanity table in her slip, doing her hair. Hildegarde was occupied elsewhere. Oh, she so wanted to go out with him properly, after this past week. It had been one of the happiest ever. As she took out her curlers and fluffed her hair, trying for a Veronica Lake sort of look, Victoria considered.

This afternoon she'd thought talk of prom would be the perfect opening. It wasn't that she _particularly_ wanted to go to a dance. All she wanted was the opportunity for a real, proper date. Maybe even to go steady. On lots of dates. To hold hands in public. To kiss. At that thought she saw her cheeks go pink in the mirror.

Victor. So sweet and so quiet and kind. What she felt was wonderful, but hard to describe. She'd never in her life felt like this before. No thunderbolts, no butterflies, no swooning or fireworks or anything like that. It was more like a sense of belonging.

Yes, that was it, she decided as she carefully powdered her nose. On the one hand it didn't sound fairytale romantic at all. But on the other, she had trouble coming up with something sweeter than she felt. Warm and sure and understood. Like a puzzle piece she hadn't been aware was missing had suddenly clicked into place, completing a picture.

She'd thought he felt the same. He'd asked her especially to keep him company tonight. And the way he looked at her. All soft-eyed. The way his face lit up when he saw her. How close he stood and walked by her.

Maybe she'd misread him. Maybe it was all her romantic imagination. No boy had ever liked her before. Why should Victor be any different? He probably just enjoyed her company in a friendly way. As well as her help with biology. Same old story. Soon he'd be asking her advice about girls, or introducing her to his girlfriend.

At that thought Victoria had the distinct physical sensation of someone kicking her in the throat. She swallowed and took a deep, calming breath.

Hair done, powder applied, girdle fastened, and petticoat on, Victoria stepped into her new dress. After quite a bit of contorting she found she could only get the zipper halfway up. With an annoyed grunt she went over and poked her head out of her bedroom door.

"Hildegarde?" she called in the direction of the stairwell. "Hildegarde?"

Nothing. So she stepped into her dainty black evening slippers and went down the hall to her mother's dressing room. She knocked gently on the doorframe. Mother was at her vanity table putting her eyeliner on. She paused and glanced over at Victoria.

"You could have picked something a bit less funereal," Mother said, going back to her eyeliner, "but the cut is nice."

Victoria was flattered. She felt elegant as Grace Kelly in her sophisticated, full-skirted, short-sleeved black dress.

"Would you please zip me?" Victoria asked. "Hildegarde is busy."

Mother waved her in. "I've been meaning to speak with you, Victoria," she said, doing up the zipper in one swift tug. "About that Van Dort boy."

Slowly Victoria turned to face her. "Yes?" she asked carefully. Her heart pounded a warning.

Mother was now sweeping blush across her cheeks. "I merely wished to remind you that you have the reputation of our family to uphold. Do not embarrass us. The Van Dorts might have bought their way onto our street and into our club, but they aren't like us. You can do better, dear."

Victoria didn't reply.

"Keep all that in mind before you make any poor decisions," Mother finished. She leaned in toward the mirror to inspect her makeup job. "You may go. Emil is bringing the car around at six, I want you ready and in the front hall at five til."

With that, she was dismissed. Victoria made her way to the stairs. Knowing her mother so well as she did, it was difficult to be hurt or outraged by what Mother had said about Victor. It was hardly new. Why, it was just what Victoria had assumed she'd say. And after all, there mightn't be anything to worry about. Victor might not feel that way about her at all.

Again, that nasty pang that took her breath. All she could do was be patient, see him tonight, behave as usual. And hope.

0—0

"What's going on with you and the Everglot girl?" Mom asked, giving Victor's hair one last desperate swipe with a comb in a effort to get it to stay slicked down from a middle part. His bangs kept springing up in defiance.

Victor's heart picked up pace. He'd sort of been hoping his mother hadn't noticed, which was incredibly naive. Mom noticed _everything_.

"I...uh...what do you mean?" Victor asked.

Victor and his parents were in the grand entry of their house, getting ready to leave for the cocktail party. Mom had finally approved Victor's outfit—a white sport coat and black trousers, and black tie. She tossed the comb at the maid, who caught it deftly with the hand not holding Dad's coat.

"You've been seeing an awful lot of her."

"Some," he said carefully.

"And?" she prompted. "Have you asked her on a date? Did she give you her telephone number? Are the two of you going steady yet?"

It went on from there. Question after rapid-fire question without time for a breath in between. All the while Mom fussed over him, smoothing back a stray lock of hair, brushing off the shoulders of his sport coat, adjusting his bow tie. Victor lost her after a while, overwhelmed.

"Well?" Mom demanded, finished with his tie.

"I don't know," Victor replied honestly. "I'm not sure what you asked. You switched to Italian halfway through."

When Mom swore, it was in English. Victor winced. Mom had spent a lot of time and effort covering up her background and never looking back from the affluent suburbs. But when she got excited, she had a tendency to slip.

"Don't get all a-flutter, dear," Dad said mildly from the doorway as he shrugged into his coat. "Gets your ethnic up." Mom ignored him.

"I said I didn't even know you were interested in girls!" she exclaimed to Victor. Victor felt his cheeks get warm.

"I am," he told her. He scuffed at the marble floor with the tip of his shoe. Mom reached up and pinched at his cheeks.

"Ach, you're so skinny. And pale! Not like those other young men at the club, did you see them? All tans and broad shoulders. You want to keep the Everglot girl interested, you work to look like them. What would a girl want with some skinny thing? Thank God for the club, now you can play tennis and golf and fit in in no time. Looks and all!"

"And speaking of," said Dad, tapping his ostentatious wristwatch, "Tick-tock! Wouldn't do to be late tonight!"

Mom nodded and let the maid drape a white fox fur over her shoulders. Tonight she was all done up in a truly awful shade of orange organza. She picked up her beaded evening bag from the hall table and joined Dad at the door. Victor followed along behind.

Mayhew had the Packard ready to go in the drive. Before Mom stepped in, she stopped Victor with a finger to his chest.

"This is a very _big deal_ ," she told him. "If you can get in good with the Everglots' daughter, who knows what great things that could mean for our family. Just keep that in mind. She could be the best thing that ever happened to you, socially speaking. So don't screw up. _Capisce_?"

"Sure," said Victor meekly, now positive he _would_ screw this up. He followed his parents into the car, and Mayhew shut the door behind him.

0-0

While Mom and Dad spent the ride to the club discussing topics of conversation and who they were going to inflict them on that evening, Victor's mind was full of Victoria. Just as it had been all week.

Every time he fantasized about the future with her, he never really imagined himself doing much to get there. Somehow, by magic maybe, they'd find themselves at the movies or on a picnic. And then some time later, they'd just find themselves living in the same house and sleeping in the same bed. Children and crabgrass and a grill on a patio would all burst into being of their own accord.

Victor knew this was stupid. And it scared and excited him in equal measure how easily he could imagine spending the rest of his life with Victoria, even though they'd probably only spent about three hours total together.

For what felt like the millionth time, he reached into the pocket of his sport coat and felt for the pin. Victor didn't like dances, but he _did_ like Victoria. While getting dressed this evening he'd made a decision. He'd do her one better than the prom. He was going to ask Victoria to go steady. While this felt right, it was also terrifying. And the pin was pretty lame. Not a jock, he didn't have a sports pin, nor had he bothered buying a class ring. All he had was the little gold pin he'd received during the one month he'd been a Cub Scout, before the disastrous jamboree incident. Hopefully Victoria wouldn't mind.

Mom had made everything exponentially worse. She'd reminded him about what a big deal asking Victoria out was. It meant pressure. It meant people _knowing_. It meant expectations that Victor wasn't at all sure he could meet. But then he thought about the way Victoria's eyes would light up whenever she saw him. That tingly warm sensation he'd get all through his body whenever she was close. The easy way they fell into step together when they walked. How he never felt shy or stupid around her.

The Packard pulled up to the club, which was already buzzing. Cars were everywhere, spilling out people in fancy clothes. Every light in the place was blazing. Tinkling glass and conversation floated through the evening air. As he stepped out of the car Victor took a look around. Off to the left he spotted the Everglots' Buick, and his heart gave a leap.

The cocktail party was being held in the lounge that opened up onto the terrace. It was crowded. Mom and Dad immediately made a beeline for the Maitlands, leaving Victor on his own. He looked around for Victoria, and spotted her by the champagne fountain. Wow, she was pretty. And her dress made her look very adult. It flattered her, as did her hair. As if pulled by a magnet he made his way across the room toward her.

It didn't take him long to notice that she was with someone. A guy. Barry Barkis.

Victor stopped where he was. Victoria was standing next to Barry, but they were both looking anywhere but at each other. Mrs. Everglot and Judge Barkis were hovering nearby them, over by one of the sad-looking potted ficus plants. Barry looked bored, a glass of champagne in one hand and the other in his pocket. Victoria clutched a small glass in both hands, and was scanning the room.

When she spotted Victor, her eyes lit up like Christmas. Victor grinned, gave a little wave. He watched Victoria excuse herself from Barry, who looked surprised when she spoke. As Victoria trotted over to join Victor, Barry caught his eye. Was it Victor's imagination, or was there understanding in his expression? It was just lucky Mrs. Everglot's back was turned, and she hadn't noticed Victoria leave.

"Oh Victor, I'm so happy to see you," Victoria said, joining him in the middle of the room.

"I didn't interrupt, did I?" Victor asked, inclining his head in Barry's direction.

"Oh goodness, no," she replied. "Would you like a drink?"

Punch in hand, the two of them made for the terrace. The air was warm and sweet. The scent of the river and the freshly mown grass carried on the breeze.

"Lovely, isn't it?" Victoria said, looking out over the scene. And then she smiled up at him. Touched his hand ever so briefly with her own.

Victor couldn't think straight. All the feeling in his body was now focused on where she'd touched him. The Cub Scout pin was burning a hole in his pocket. Sooner or later Mrs. Everglot, or, God forbid, Mom, would realize they'd left together.

"So what do you think?" Victoria asked, breaking into his worrying. Victor blinked. He'd been dimly aware she'd been talking, but hadn't heard a word.

"I...uh...sorry, could you repeat that last bit?" he asked, taking what he hoped was a nonchalant swig of sweet, sherbet-y punch. He promptly choked, and tried to cough discreetly as he could.

"I asked if you'd like to sit," Victoria said slowly, cocking an eyebrow. She gestured toward a wrought-iron bench just off the terrace, screened from view of the clubhouse by a hedge.

"Oh," he managed through coughing up the last of his punch. "Yes, great."

Together they sat on the bench, close enough to just barely touch. Close enough for Victor to feel the warmth of her. And, he couldn't help noticing, he could see down the neckline of her dress. Quickly he averted his eyes.

"It's nice to be out here, isn't it?" Victoria asked. She set her empty cup on the ground, then folded her hands demurely in her lap. "Quieter."

"Quieter," Victor repeated stupidly, realizing it was his turn to talk. Victoria looked up at him. With one hand she pushed aside the hair that was draping over her eye.

"Victor, are you okay?" she asked, her eyes searching his. Victor met her gaze, and suddenly his mind went blank. Her eyes were too big and pretty for him to think. Couldn't he just sit here and look at her forever? Why did they need to talk about it?

"Victor?" she repeated, sounding really concerned now. She reached and put a friendly hand on his arm, and he felt it all through his body with a force that was startling. He went all warm.

"Goodness, is that the time?" he desperately fumbled, checking his watch. Remembering too late that he was holding his punch in his left hand. The cup went sideways and sent a cascade of punch down Victoria's leg.

"Oh!" she yelped, jumping away from the worst of it. A blob of half-melted sherbet narrowly missed her shoe.

"I'm sorry!" Victor cried, dropping his now-empty cup on the terrace. It dropped with a clink and rolled into the shadows.

"It's all right," Victoria assured him, brushing uselessly at her skirt. Syrupy liquid trailed down her leg. "Thank goodness it's black, no one will see the stain."

"Sorry," he repeated weakly. He ran a hand through his hair, scratched at the back of his neck. Victoria stood and bent to wipe at the swiftly drying punch on her leg. He wished he had a handkerchief to offer her.

"Could you excuse me?" he said abruptly. Victoria opened her mouth in surprise, but Victor was already fleeing the scene. "I'll be right back!" he promised over his shoulder.

Down the hill he went toward the river. He needed some space. He needed to think.

He had. To get it. Together.

Even if Victoria had been interested before, she probably wasn't now. Now Victor was the maroon who jabbered and spilled punch on her beautiful dress. Who left her all alone when they'd promised to keep one another company tonight. Victor felt like a jerk. In a couple of ways.

This had to be just right. Every time he looked at Victoria now it was as if his brain fell out of his head. What if he'd misread her? What if she turned him down? What if going steady with him was the last thing on her mind?

But he'd never know if he didn't ask. The way she looked at him, how easy he felt with her, that all seemed to count a heck of a lot more than his doubts. Victor stopped by the riverbank, out of sight of the clubhouse, near the edge of the golf course. The setting sun was casting golden and pink light on the water.

Maybe...maybe an invitation to the prom was the right first step after all. A lead-in. After a romantic evening he could present the pin and ask her.

 _Victoria, ever since I started watching you in the library...no, that's creepy,_ he thought.

 _I don't know if you know this, but my bedroom window looks right into yours, and sometimes in the evenings I can see in and—oh, goodness no, that's even worse._

He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose and sighed. Briefly he closed his eyes, and let his mind fill with Victoria. The mere thought of her filled him with firm resolve. He liked her. He wanted her. He was pretty sure she felt the same. He couldn't pass this up.

Victor opened his eyes, and practiced his invitation in the general direction of the still waters.

"I've liked you since the moment I set eyes on you," he said, pure feeling making his words ring honest and heartfelt and true. "And I would be honored to take you to the prom. Will you go with me?"

Yeah, that was pretty good. Satisfied, confident, chest swelled, Victor smoothed his hair back and fingered the pin in his pocket again. He'd give it to her after a successful prom date tomorrow.

For once in his life, Victor was confident he'd succeed. It was a nice feeling.

He'd just turned, spring in his step, to walk back up the slope to where Victoria waited on the terrace when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He peered through the dimness until he saw it again. There, just under the bridge, in the shadows. The water was bubbling.

Victor cocked his head and watched. Usually the river was calm, so calm it hardly seemed to move at all. Fish, maybe? Very active fish? He took a step closer to the bank.

The movement grew more furious as he watched. Soon it looked as though the dark water was boiling, still at that same spot under the bridge.

Then the boiling spot began to move. Shoreward. Toward him.

Mouth agape, he took a step back. It was moving faster now, whatever it was. Definitely not a fish. Something else was rising up out of the shallows. Victor was frozen where he was, transfixed, not breathing.

With a slosh and a splash, a young woman rose up out of the water, as if she was walking up the bank from underwater. A head, then a neck, then shoulders then gowned body then legs and then she was standing right in front of him. River water dripped from her frame, down her short, waved hair. And there was something else. Something wrong.

Parts of her were skeletal. One arm was fleshless. Her skull peeked through one side of her face. Ribs showed where ordinarily cleavage would be shown off. Her eyes were focused squarely on him. She was smiling with what remained of her lips.

Victor was pretty sure his heart had stopped. When it kicked back to life, beating fast as a rabbit's, it made him gasp. For a moment he stared at the dead girl, and the dead girl smiled at him.

"That sounds _wonderful!_ " she said, clasping her hands together in excitement. "I would _love_ to go to prom with you!"


	4. Chapter 4

**4**

It was dark, it was getting chilly, Victor had been gone for ages, and she smelled like sugary lemon-lime. Tonight was not going as Victoria had hoped.

Victor was behaving so strangely. All twitchy and weird, his mind clearly a million miles away. And then he'd just run off.

Victoria peered in the direction he'd disappeared in. Down the hill toward the river. She couldn't see him. She made a move to stand, maybe to go after him, but quickly thought better of it. Maybe he didn't want her to follow.

Leaning back on the bench, she sighed and stretched out her legs. The sherbet had glued her stocking to her leg. Gingerly she tugged at the sticky spot, trying not to cause a run. Her fingers came away tacky and lemony. How she wished she had her handbag with her. With nothing better to do she wiped her fingers on the hem of her dress. Hopefully sherbet would come out.

Footsteps made her look up. It was Victor, sprinting up the hill like a sport-coated gazelle. Even from the terrace she could hear him panting.

"Victor," she began, leaping to her feet, "where have you-" but he reached out and snatched her hand, pulling her along behind him.

"Run!" he panted. "Hide!"

"Why?"

"Zombie!"

Victoria didn't know what she'd expected him to say, but it wasn't that. "What?" she managed as he pulled her along. Several times she nearly stumbled. His legs were a lot longer than hers, his speed that of someone in a life or death chase.

Finally they made it to the far edge of the building, near the pool. The smell of chlorine drifted over, mingling with the spice of the tall hedge which separated the swimming area and tennis courts from the clubhouse lawn. Victor pulled her behind the hedge.

She was warm under her arms and breathing hard. The hairstyle she'd spent so long perfecting flopped and stuck over her face. She pushed her hair back, wishing she had a ribbon or pin. Victor was bent over, hands on knees, struggling to catch his breath. For a long time neither of them spoke.

"I think I lost it," he said, his breathing more regular now. He straightened up and ran a hand through his hair. Victoria looked at him, seeing how wide his eyes were, how high his color. He noticed her watching him, and explained, "There was a dead girl. I swear. I was practic-I mean, I was just down there, by the river, and-" he interrupted himself with a little shudder -"and the river bubbled, and then there was a zombie. She walked right out of the water."

The silence which followed this was awesome.

"Are you sure?" Victoria asked gently. "You weren't reading _Crypt of Terrors_ this afternoon, were you?" She didn't want to hurt his feelings or say she didn't believe him...but she didn't believe him.

"Just one story," he replied, his tone a mix of sheepish and defensive. Victoria reached and took his hand. It was sweaty, but so was hers.

"Is everything okay? You don't seem like yourself tonight," she said, feeling bolder now that they were hidden away in the shadows, in the quiet. When he looked into her eyes, she felt it all the way down in the pit of her stomach.

"No," he admitted with a small laugh. "I mean, I'm not feeling like myself, but it's not in a _bad_ way..." He trailed off. That dreamy look she liked so much took over his face just then, replacing the panic completely. He took her other hand.

"I might not get another chance to do this," he told her. "Or we might get eaten by a zombie—but anyway—Victoria, I like you. A lot. I can't think of anybody I like spending time with more. Would you—I'd like to date you. Steady. If we're alive."

Victoria's heart swelled so much it pushed the breath out of her. "Oh, Victor," she managed, knowing she was grinning from ear to ear, "I feel the same way about you. Yes, I'll go steady with you." She decided to ignore the part about zombies for now.

The smile that broke over Victor's face was the most purely joyful she'd ever seen. On anyone. Ever. A laugh, fluttery and nervous and thrilled, bubbled up her throat before she could stop it. She was pleased when Victor joined in, his chuckle quiet but happy.

When the fit of giggles passed, Victoria found they'd moved closer. It was getting dark enough that when she looked up, she could only see the barest outline of Victor's face. She _felt_ him there, though. And was it her imagination, or was he drawing a little nearer, leaning his face down toward hers?

 _My first kiss!_ she thought. Expectantly, excitedly, Victoria stood a bit on tiptoe.

"Ahem."

They both jumped, then turned. It was Dad, the stub of a cigar in his mouth. He'd snuck up on them from around the hedge.

"Shouldn't you two be inside?" he asked in a low voice, mostly looking at Victor. When neither of them responded, he chewed the end of his cigar and grunted, "Victoria. Come along."

She looked up at Victor before she complied, somehow sure she'd dreamed this whole scene. But Victor smiled down at her and gave her fingers a squeeze before letting go. Her heart fluttered.

"I'll follow you," he said quietly, with a quick glance at her father. Wishing she could stay, she joined Dad, and together they made their way back to the clubhouse. All the while she took glances back at Victor until she couldn't make him out any longer. She was sure she saw him raise his hand in a little wave, though.

She and Dad walked along the terrace. Another couple was on the bench now, cocktails in hand. Victoria wondered what sort of dressing-down she'd get for getting caught behind a hedge with Victor Van Dort. Somehow, she really didn't care. The party was still going strong in the lounge, voices raised and glasses tinkling.

"I won't tell your mother. This time," said Dad, giving her a little push through the French doors into the lounge. Seeing her quizzical look, he said, "I told her already, it'll be just like what happened with me and Mamie Cartwright."

"Mamie Cartwright?" Victoria asked. She'd never heard the name.

Dad plucked his cigar from his mouth and examined it, checking to be sure it was out. "You and the Van Dort boy...You'll go on a date or two, get it out of your system," he told her gruffly. "It won't take you long to figure out you're too different. Stick to your own, the people who think like you do, who come from where you do."

The thing that had been fluttering in Victoria's chest caught fire. She couldn't think of anyone in the world more like her than Victor was. Across the room she caught sight of Barry, the very type Dad probably meant. The type who was her own kind. As if she'd not figured that out from the way Mother and the Judge kept throwing the two of them together. And whoever Mamie Cartwright was, or had been, she must have been very, very different from Mother. Victoria didn't feel comfortable asking for more details from her father.

The moment had passed, anyway. Dad was already stowing his cigar and plucking a fresh cocktail from a passing tray. Victoria turned to see whether Victor was behind them, but he wasn't there.

0—0

Victor watched as Mr. Everglot herded Victoria back toward the party. He was a bit surprised he'd been let off so easy. He hoped Victoria wasn't catching it, and that she didn't get grounded or anything on his account. Victor decided he'd go by Victoria's tomorrow and try to smooth things over. Maybe bring some of Mom's biscotti.

He took a deep, bracing breath of the night air. Everything smelled so good, so promising. He was a little disappointed that his very first kiss had been so rudely interrupted, but it was okay. There would be plenty more opportunities. He grinned at the thought. The whole world looked brighter and happier.

And not a zombie in sight. Victoria was right. He must have imagined the whole thing. Too many horror comics and too much stress. That was all. Zombies didn't exist. Dead girls didn't go to prom.

When he put his hands in his pockets he realized that he'd forgotten to give Victoria the pin. Oh well. There was another good reason to visit Victoria tomorrow. Victor chuckled to himself.

It was probably time to rejoin the party. Rejoin Victoria. But he'd better make a stop at the gents' first. He felt damp and sweaty from fear and exertion, and probably smelled like it as well.

Victor walked around the edge and found himself face to face with the dead girl from the river.

He gasped and jumped backward. There the zombie stood, in a long satin dress. The light from the clubhouse fell on her so that he could see that her skin was grayish blue. Her hair was wavy, cropped short and parted deeply on the side. Bizarrely, all he could think of was Ginger Rogers. But dead and rotting rather than dancing.

"Glad I caught you!" she said cheerfully, taking a step closer. "It's hard to run in high heels!"

Victor's brain, unable to process this any longer, decided to shut down. Shortly thereafter the rest of him followed. He didn't feel it when he hit the ground.


	5. Chapter 5

**5**

"Are you okay?"

Pain in the darkness. The girl's voice sounded like she was down a well. The back of Victor's head throbbed. He dragged himself out of unconsciousness. A musty, earthy sort of smell hit his nostrils. Without opening his eyes he felt he was lying down on something hard and cold.

"Ugh," Victor groaned. He'd been trying to ask what had happened, but the groan was all that came out.

"You fainted, so I brought you home," the voice said, soothingly. Victor's head was full of fog and fuzz.

"Oh," said Victor groggily, wondering how long he'd been out. "Thanks. But...how did you know where I live?"

Finally he opened his eyes to find the dead girl's face hovering above his own. Immediately his brain kicked back on, his vision cleared, and his heart gave a lurch. Victor yelped and sat up, scooting backward until he hit a wall. He'd moved too fast, for his head gave another painful throb. Zombie Ginger Rogers was perched on the edge of the marble slab he'd been lying on. She looked at him kindly, with concern.

Victor looked around. A low room, with cement walls and a dirt floor. An urn, dusty and ancient-looking, sat in one corner. A large vase filled with dead lilies sat upon a shelf. There were no windows. A heavy-looking door fitted with a huge bolt was set into the far wall. Sconces burned here and there, throwing shadows.

She hadn't brought him to his own home. This was _her_ home. And it was a crypt.

Immediately Victor felt claustrophobic. His chest tightened. The ache in his head, though lessening, throbbed in time with his racing heart.

"Let me out," he said. The demand came out in a squeak.

"You hit your head pretty hard," the zombie said. "Maybe you should sit still for a while."

She tilted her head and smiled at him. She reached with her fleshed hand to pat his knee. Victor shifted away as best he could. It was hard not to gag. Up close it was easier to see the parts of her where skin was peeling away, where the bones glistened through, where the flesh was rotted. Her molars showed through the gash in one side of her face. A rotting corsage was still pinned to what remained of her breast.

Swallowing bile, Victor decided to focus on the most alive part of her, her eyes.

"I'm imagining this," he said slowly. He looked around again, rubbed at his eyes furiously. "I hit my head so hard that I'm in a coma. Soon I'll wake up."

"You're awake," Zombie Ginger Rogers said, amused.

"No, I can't be. Not possible. A zombie is talking to me. I'm in a crypt. Just like in _Seven Dead Brides for Seven Brothers_ ," Victor insisted, aware he was babbling. Better than screaming or crying or trying to run.

After a moment's thought, the zombie reached over and pinched his arm.

"Ow!" Victor yelped. She giggled. Victor rubbed his arm and frowned.

"So you're not dreaming," she grinned.

"I guess not," Victor replied, not liking that at all.

"Emily, dear, how's your friend?" came a voice from the shadows to one side. Another dead woman loomed out of the darkness, coming through a doorway Victor hadn't noticed before. When she saw Victor gaping at her, she smiled.

"Oh lovely, he's awake!" she said. This dead woman was older, wearing a simple lavender dress. Her hair was gray, cropped close to her head. When she sat on the edge of the slab opposite Emily, Victor could see a resemblance between them. The same eyes.

Victor pressed himself harder against the wall and hugged his knees to his chest. He'd been kidnapped by zombies. Nice ones. A dead girl and her mother. This was insane. He squeezed his eyes shut, hard, and counted to three. When he opened his eyes, he was unfortunately still in the crypt with two zombies.

"This is my mother," said Emily, confirming Victor's assumption. "Mother, this is-um..." She put her hand on Victor's knee again, just lightly. "I'm afraid in all the excitement I never caught your name!"

"Victor," he supplied. Then, a bit belatedly, he added, "Pleasure to meet you."

"I'm so thrilled you're taking my Emily to the prom," Emily's mother said to him. "She never got to attend hers."

"Here we go," said Emily, rolling her eyes at Victor good-naturedly. Victor was surprised when he found himself offering her a little grin in return. But then he frowned. Taking Emily to prom?

"Hold on, please-" Victor began, but Emily's mother talked right over him.

"That dance was all she talked about for weeks," she said in a wistful sort of way. "Weeks and weeks. And for years before that she'd spend hours playing debutante ball with her dolls. Why, she'd put on my old gowns and dance around the front room for the whole afternoon!"

"Oh, Mother," cried Emily with a giggle, hiding her face behind her hands. She peeked out between skeletal fingers. "Don't tell my date embarrassing stories! She'll be getting out the photo album next."

But her mother continued as if she hadn't spoken. "And then, after all of that, after we took photographs in the front room...the two of them got into that car. And drove away. It was the last time I saw her."

By the time she finished her voice was hoarse and broken. Emily reached over and squeezed her mother's hand. "It's okay," she soothed. "It was a long time ago."

Something came to Victor then. Dad's story about Dead Man's Bridge. "The awful one in '36," Victor said. He looked closely at Emily, smiling and dead in her nice dress and corsage. "The car accident. That was you?"

Emily's smile flickered just a little. "It _was_ pretty awful," she agreed. "Look."

She swept back her hair, exposing her forehead. Victor gasped and recoiled. Most of her forehead was a dent, caving in just above her eyebrow on one side. A little bit of brain, gray and wrinkly, peeped out from between shards of skull. Victor gagged. Emily let her hair drop.

"Thank goodness I decided to part it on that side!" she said, chipper again. But her mother was still frowning.

"And then, after all of that, that terrible boy-"

"Don't say that," Emily interrupted, her tone suddenly sharp. "Georgie wasn't awful. I liked him a lot. We were good friends. And he tried to help me."

 _The boy got himself out somehow, but the girl didn't_. That's what Dad had said. Victor spared a thought for this George, who'd survived. How terrible that must have been, to have been driving. To see your girlfriend die. Victor swallowed.

"It was an accident," Emily said quietly. She fingered the dead bloom on her corsage. "I'm glad he got out. It was...it was too late for me."

There was a silence.

"I'm sorry," said Victor finally. He made a move to pat her hand, but couldn't quite bring himself to touch her. "Look, I'm really sorry. For what happened to you. But I need to get home. Thanks for...thanks for taking care of me. But I need to go home."

"What about prom?" Emily asked, snapping out of her reverie.

"Yes, what about the prom?" her mother asked. Both of them stared at him with their oddly alive eyes set in rotting faces.

"Prom?" Victor echoed, confused, looking back and forth between them. Then it clicked. Right. He really _hadn't_ been dreaming. He'd asked a dead girl to prom. And she'd _accepted_. Victor almost passed out again.

"But I didn't—I mean, I _did_ , but not how you—I didn't _mean_ it," Victor said. It wasn't like he wanted to hurt Emily's feelings or anything. But to take a zombie to prom? It was like a B-movie. Not to mention he already had a girlfriend.

 _I have a girlfriend,_ he thought. Victoria. Their relationship was so new and he'd always been single. It had taken him a while to remember. Now that he had, though, Victoria filled his imagination. What must she be thinking right now? He'd disappeared on her. She probably thought he'd been playing a prank on her or something. His stomach went cold. He reached into his jacket pocket and was relieved to find he still had the pin he'd meant to give her. He touched it like a talisman.

Emily's face fell before his eyes. "Didn't _mean_ it?" she asked, her voice wavering. Unbelievably, her eyes started to moisten, and Victor watched as she blinked away tears. He didn't know dead people could cry.

"I—well-" he fumbled, no idea how to finish that sentence.

"Listen, Emily," her mother put in quickly, a hand on her shoulder, "Why don't you go freshen up a little, and then you and Victor can go for a little walk and get more acquainted before your date."

Emily brightened a little, though she still looked at Victor with a question in her eyes. "That's a wonderful idea," she said. "I'll be right back."

Once she'd gone, out through the shadows, her mother turned to Victor with a whole different expression on her thin dead face. It was a look that made Victor recoil.

"The only thing my daughter wanted was to go to the prom," she told Victor in a low voice. Her ever-darkening gaze held Victor's. She leaned closer. "You have _no_ idea what it is like to lose a child. I didn't last a month after Emily died. Such a waste, a senseless _waste_. And when I arrived down here and saw her in her prom gown, forever in that prom gown she never danced in-"

Emily's mother had to stop. Her voice had become thick with emotion. Victor's heart was heavy. He did feel sorry. He _did_. But what could he do?

He opened his mouth to timidly ask that very question when Emily's mother spoke again. "You asked her to the prom, whether you meant to or not. And she's over the moon about it, just like she was before. _Do not ruin this for her_. It will break her heart."

Victor shut his mouth. What was he supposed to say to that? How was he supposed to explain that there was a third heart involved here? How could he possibly go to Victoria, his now-official girlfriend, and explain that he was taking a corpse on a pity date? But if he _didn't_ take Emily to prom, how on earth was he going to get back home?

"O-okay," was all he said.

"Good."

Emily's mother stood, and Victor followed suit. At least he tried. The ceiling was very low, and he had to stoop. By the time Emily came back in, her hair smoothed and some mold picked off her dress, his neck was aching. Emily came over and took his arm. He tried not to flinch. The desire to not be rude warred with the instinctual recoil at having something dead touching him. And yet, her hand, mobile and friendly in the crook of his elbow, didn't _seem_ all that dead.

Victor's head was starting to hurt again.

"Let's go get a soda!" Emily said, using her free arm to throw the bolt on the heavy door as if it weighed no more than a feather. On the other side of the door was more gloom and flickering green light. And faint strains of music.

"A soda?" he asked, sure he'd misheard.

"Have a lovely time!" Emily's mother said gaily Emily led Victor out of the crypt.


	6. Chapter 6

**6**

Saturday morning dawned gray. By the time Victoria went down to the breakfast room, the sky outside the floor-to-ceiling windows was like pewter. A few fat raindrops plopped half-heartedly here and there on the back patio.

But it was sunny in Victoria's heart. She was in love. She had a boyfriend.

Victoria had hardly slept the night before. Every time she closed her eyes she saw Victor's face. Every time she started to drift off she'd find herself reliving the moment when he'd asked her to go steady. The look on his face. The feel of his breath on her cheek when they'd almost _almost_ kissed...And then shivers of delight would wake her right up again.

Mother and Dad were already eating when she sat down. Well, Dad was eating, and Mother was bent over a cup of black coffee. She was wearing the old dressing gown and worn out look which indicated three too many martinis the night before. Victoria poured her cereal as quietly as she could, but still Mother winced at the clink the spoon made against the bowl.

As she poured her milk, Victoria considered. Would Victor call first, or just come by? Now that they were going steady, was it okay for Victoria to call him? Tricky. And no way was she asking her mother for etiquette tips about it. Actually, she'd prefer not to tell her parents at all just yet. Or ever. She chewed and thought about it. She wanted to see him right now. The Everglots had left last night well before the Van Dorts had, so she'd not had a chance to talk to him again since they'd parted on the terrace. And the Van Dort's car had pulled in very late last night indeed.

The whole day stretched out before her, brimming with promise of Victor's company. Her _boyfriend's_ company. Maybe there was a matinee this afternoon. Nonchalantly as possible she pulled the arts section of the newspaper toward herself. Dad never bothered with that section.

"What's that noise?" Dad asked suddenly, lowering the financial pages. Victoria cocked her head and listened.

"What noise?" she asked in return.

"That snap-crackling-pop noise," Dad elaborated gruffly.

"Oh!" said Victoria, looking down at her bowl of Rice Krispies. "My breakfast."

Dad rustled the newspaper before disappearing behind it again. "Well, keep it down," he told her.

"Aren't you a bit old for that sort of breakfast?" Mother put in. Her voice was hoarse and sluggish.

Even Victoria's cereal annoyed her parents. She was starting to look forward to charm school, just to get out of here.

The doorbell chimed. Mother groaned, but Victoria's heart leapt. It had to be Victor. He probably couldn't wait to see her, either. She sat up a little straighter and smoothed down her blouse, making sure it was neatly tucked into her skirt. She straightened the ribbon holding her ponytail and looked at the door expectantly.

After all that, it was a let down when Hildegarde came in to say that the visitor was Mayhew, the Van Dort's driver. Probably he wanted to borrow Emil's Simoniz again. The Van Dorts had three other cars besides the Packard, so he was constantly running out.

Victoria sat back and picked up her spoon as Hildegarde added to Dad, "He'd like to speak to one of you, sir. A message from Mrs. Van Dort."

"I'm not fit for visitors," Mother mumbled, rubbing at her forehead. With an aggrieved sigh Dad put the paper down and got up, following Hildegarde out to the front hall.

A moment or so later he was back. "Anyone seen the Van Dort boy? From across the street?" he asked.

Victoria and her mother turned to look at him in surprise.

"No," Mother said slowly, turning her hawk-eye on Victoria. Victoria just shook her head.

"Apparently they lost him at the party last night," Dad added. "Their driver's here asking after him. He hasn't come home yet."

Quick as a flash Victoria was out of her chair and past her father. She caught Mayhew out on the front walk.

"Victor didn't come home last night?" she asked after flagging him down, getting right to the point. Her heart was in her throat and it must have showed on her face. Mayhew took of his cap and ran his hand over his head.

"I'm sure it's nothing to worry about," he told her. "He'll be back soon. Just checking around for Mrs. Van Dort, you know?"

With a wave he was gone, back into the Van Dort's Packard and starting down the drive, then heading toward town, presumably to continue the search. Victoria watched him go.

"Victor," she said quietly, only half-aware she was speaking aloud. When the Packard disappeared from view, she looked across the street at the Van Dort's house. At the chair on the porch where she'd seen Victor so many times over the past week. Victoria glanced up, almost shyly, at the window she knew to belong to Victor's bedroom. Hers looked right into his. She'd had occasion to notice once or twice, though she'd never say so aloud.

"Miss Victoria?" came Hildegarde's voice from behind her. "Your mother wants you. And you must finish your breakfast, dear."

Reluctantly Victoria turned back toward the house. Where could Victor be? Was he lying hurt somewhere? Lost? Abducted? Victoria took a deep breath and tried to shoo these worst case scenarios out of her head. There must be a good explanation. He was probably fine.

Wherever he was.

0—0

Victor was at the soda fountain.

There was a soda fountain. A soda fountain for the dead.

Inside there was a jukebox for the dead and a pool table for the dead and a dart game for the dead. A dead waitress went by with moldy burgers and fries for the dead. Skeletons sporting outfits that seemed to span a couple centuries sat in pairs and groups at tables around the restaurant. Judging by the layout, including the coffin-shaped bar, this place had probably started out as a pub. The bartender was a tall skeleton wearing nothing but a bowler hat.

"Victor, what's wrong?" Emily asked. "You aren't drinking your soda."

Victor examined the glass before him. Whatever was in it was brown and burbled like acid. Like Emily's, it was decorated with a tattered little paper umbrella. He swallowed.

"Nothing," Victor replied. He still didn't know what to do.

The two of them were in a little corner booth, wedged in near the jukebox. There was a jukebox. Somehow this was the hardest thing so far for Victor to get his head around. None of this, this city of the dead, was anything like he'd imagined from his comic books.

No piles of skulls. No wailing. No cool dark crypts. No silence. Instead, there was light, purple and green strands everywhere, impossibly. There was noise, music and laughter and conversation.

It was just like the living world. Except here the party never stopped. Nobody had to go to work or school. Nobody had to sleep. They all carried on just as if they were alive. Corpses had houses with window-boxes, they had shops, they had bikes. It was surreal. As they'd walked from Emily's to the soda fountain, Victor recognized a couple of faces. Frank the mailman, who'd died a couple of years ago after about fifty years delivering the mail. The grumpy guy who'd lived at the end of their street when Victor was little. Victor's second-grade teacher, who'd been stung by a bee on a nature walk.

They all looked fine. Just dead. It made no sense. Though on some primal level, it was comforting. If this was all death was, it didn't seem too bad. But he'd seen about enough. He had to get out of here. He had no idea how much time had passed. At approximately two minutes to eight his watch had died. How long could anything stay alive down here? Everyone must be worried. Glum, Victor watched his "soda" burble.

"I can't wait for tonight. You know, I was on the prom committee," Emily said dreamily, twirling her paper umbrella between her fingers. A bit of her thumb dropped off into her drink, but she didn't seem to notice. "It was the most fun I had all through high school. Our theme was 'Fairyland.' What's your theme?"

Surprised by the question, Victor wracked his brain. Proms had themes? He tried to visualize the posters that had been up all over the school. A dark blue night sky, twirly lettering that was hard to read.

"Stars, I think?" he said uncertainly. "Something about stars?"

"Ooh," said Emily appreciatively, seeming not to care how vague that was. "Romantic. I can't wait to see it. The gym looked _magical_ after we decorated it, and that was in the middle of the afternoon! I wish I'd got to see it at night, with all the candles we set up..."

She trailed off, sounding sad, and then took a sip of her drink. Victor rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. It was horrible, what had happened to her. It really was. She was so nice and open and fun, and it was clear she'd been very pretty before the head injury. Even _with_ the head injury, even dead, she wasn't ugly. And all she'd wanted was to go to the prom.

But it wasn't his job to fix this. No matter what Emily's mother thought.

Across the table, Emily perked up out of her little funk and looked him in the eye. "I do remember, because I was head of the committee, that I had to stand up in front of my homeroom and make announcements about the prom. So I was the one who had to stand up in front of _everyone_ the day before and say—I remember this exactly-'The school administration says that there is to be no necking in the parking lot.'"

She barely got through it without cracking up. By the punchline Emily was bent in half with gales of laughter. She was the type who laughed uproariously, with her entire body—a hand covering her face and then coming down again, bending over sideways, dropping her head and then raising it again. The type of hilarity that was contagious. Victor started to laugh, too.

"Look at you!" Emily cried, laughing harder, pointing at Victor. "Look at you blush!"

"I'm not blushing!" Victor insisted through a laugh that took his breath. "I'm laughing. I...I get pink when I laugh too hard."

Emily threw her head back in mirth, then leaned across the table at him, wagging a bony finger. "No no, I know blushing when I see it," she said. She lowered her voice. "It's because I said 'necking,' isn't it?"

"No," Victor lied. It was hard not to blush when sitting with a girl who was talking about necking. Dead or not.

Emily's laughter finally subsided. She wiped away a tear. "Oh my," she said, hiccuping one last laugh. "I didn't know I could still cry from laughing too hard."

A comfortable silence settled over them. Victor sighed deeply and sat back. He watched Emily sip her soda and look around the room, at ease and happy. Because she could still laugh. Because she thought she was going to the prom. Letting her think so was lying to her. She was too nice to lie to.

"Look," said Victor. He cleared his throat and folded his hands on the table. Emily leaned forward expectantly. "Emily. I need to be honest with you, okay?"

"Okay," she replied, leaning her chin on her hand and smiling.

"I have a girlfriend," he told her, a bit hesitantly. "Her—her name is Victoria and she lives across the street from me. We're—I-she's my girlfriend."

There was a pause. Emily's expression was unreadable. Victor just sat there, sweating, trying to maintain eye contact. The mention of Victoria's name, the thought of her eyes and her smile and her warmth, filled Victor with resolve. He was going to get out of this somehow. He needed to get back to her.

"Are you making that up?" Emily finally asked. She sat back and crossed her arms. "You sound like you're making that up."

"I'm not!" He wished he had a picture of Victoria in his wallet so that he could prove it. He'd have to ask her for a picture of herself when he saw her again. _If_ he ever saw her again. He swallowed.

"Well," Emily huffed, " _clearly_ it's not going so well if you're inviting other girls to prom!"

"It's—it's going fine!" Victor sputtered.

"So how come you didn't ask your _girlfriend_ to the prom?" She did the air quotes around "girlfriend" and everything.

"I was trying to! When I asked you, I was asking her."

"I didn't see anyone else around when I came out of the water."

"She wasn't there, that's why."

"Okay," Emily said, pulling a face. "Sure. You were asking your girlfriend who wasn't there to the prom. Right."

Victor opened his mouth, then closed it again. Then, taking a deep breath against his frustration, he said slowly, "I was practicing. Asking her to prom. You heard me instead. _It was a mistake_. I'm sorry I got your hopes up. But I am not. Taking you. To prom."

Emily blinked. Her face darkened. Victor felt like the worst jerk in the entire world as he watched anger and hurt and confusion all war their way across Emily's dead features. He saw more tears gather in the corners of her eyes. Not happy ones this time.

Then, without another word, she got up and left.

"Wait," Victor said, half-rising, but she ignored him. Out the door she strode, head held high and the silk train on her skirt trailing along the dirt floor.

"Nicely done," said the bartender skeleton in deep, sarcastic growl at Victor's elbow. Victor jumped. He hadn't heard the skeleton come over. Slowly he sank back into the booth. The skeleton tilted his head so that his one yellow eyeball rolled into the socket nearest Victor.

"I'll just take these, then," he said, sweeping up the sodas from the table, one half-empty and the other untouched. "You look like you're finished, kid."

Victor didn't know what to say to that.

Alone now, he could feel his cheeks burning with embarrassment and shame. He regretted being so mean about it. He'd just been at the end of his rope. And now here he was, ditched at the soda fountain and surrounded by the dead.

"Hey there," said a new voice. Victor looked up to see a pair of teenagers, a girl and a boy. Dead, obviously, and not very fresh. They were both dressed in stuffy Victorian outfits. The boy spoke again. "Mind if we have your booth, now your friend's gone?"

"Oh," said Victor, scrambling awkwardly to his feet. "Er, no. Not at all. Help yourselves."

And so they did, each sliding elegantly into the booth and immediately bowing their heads intimately toward each other. The sight made Victor miss Victoria. Very, very much. And then, watching them, he felt a fresh pang of guilt for upsetting Emily so much, when they'd been having a pretty good time. He sighed and rubbed at his eyes.

How was he going to get out of this?


	7. Chapter 7

**7**

When Mother was hungover it wasn't hard to give her the slip.

After Emil drove Dad to the bank for the monthly Saturday morning hours, Victoria waited in her bedroom until Hildegarde was occupied in the laundry room and Mother had retired to the sofa with aspirin and an ice pack. Recalling the suspicious glint in Mother's eye when she'd come back inside after talking to Mayhew, Victoria decided to leave her radio on as a cover. On a day like today Mother probably wouldn't reappear until after lunch, but better to be safe. Hopefully she'd be able to find Victor, get everything sorted out, and be back before Mother knew she was gone.

Victoria slid on a cardigan and left the bedroom door ajar behind her. Patti Page's voice asking after the price of the doggy in the window followed her down the back stairs.

Outside the kitchen door the day was still gray and cool and threatening rain. Victoria pulled her sweater a little closer around herself as she crossed the damp side yard and made her way across the street to Victor's house.

Up the long, paved walk she went, and then up the wide porch steps. It was even darker here on the porch. Over to one side was the chair where Victor always sat. She looked at it for a long moment, and then rang the doorbell.

From inside the house came the sound of what seemed like an entire cathedral's worth of bells. Soon a shape was visible through the frosted glass. Instead of the maid Victoria had been expecting, Mrs. Van Dort herself opened the door.

"Oh, it's you!" she said by way of greeting. Victoria detected relief in her tone. "I was expecting the cops. Or maybe somebody from the morgue."

"Good morning," said Victoria. "I heard about Victor, and I wanted to-"

Before she could finish, Mrs. Van Dort reached out a hand and grabbed her by the elbow, pulling her into the house. It was warm in here, almost too warm. The air smelled of baking and just the slightest hint of garlic, all covered over with the flowery scent of Mrs. Van Dort's perfume.

"Aren't you a little doll to come by," Mrs. Van Dort said as she ushered Victoria into the living room. Victoria was slightly taken aback by the floral furniture and crammed knick-knack shelves. There were end tables and doilies and unfortunate-looking lamps everywhere. It was like stepping into the pages of a spread from _Better Homes and Gardens—_ except the pages had gotten stuck together and three designs made it into one room all at once.

"Sit, sit!" said Mrs. Van Dort, gesturing to one of the sofas. Victoria did as she was told, the plastic slipcover creaking awkwardly beneath her. "One minute, I'll be back."

Mrs. Van Dort disappeared through a doorway, leaving Victoria to look over the pictures on the walls. Norman Rockwell prints, mostly. Family pictures crammed onto the mantel and the side tables. One of Victor as a little boy was on the table near her elbow. She picked it up to examine it. In the photo he couldn't have been more than three or four. He stood in front of the steps of a brownstone, posed next to a tricycle. Victoria smiled.

"Nice picture, yes?" said Mrs. Van Dort as she came back into the room, bearing a huge platter of pastries. "He never did learn to ride that thing. Once he crashed into a garbage can so hard I thought he'd have brain damage. Smelled like coffee grounds for a week, too."

"Here, eat," said her hostess, setting down the platter on the coffee table and taking a seat on the opposite sofa. Victoria, not having much of an appetite, picked up something that looked like a cream horn just to be polite.

"So Victor," Victoria tried again. "No word? Nothing at all?"

Across the way Mrs. Van Dort kept fiddling with one of her dangling sparkling earrings. Her dress was one of the plainest Victoria had ever seen her wear, though her makeup and jewelry were both more suited to a cocktail party.

"Nyenta," was what it sounded like she replied. Quickly she caught herself. "Nothing. No. He just disappeared from the club! Who knows where he wandered off to. Making us all worry like this! Me stuck here waiting for him and missing the ladies' club. When I get a hold of him, hand to God-"

"Have you gone to the police?" Victoria interrupted, feeling they were getting off-track. Mrs. Van Dort snorted, picked up a napkin, and started piling some cookies on it.

"Lot of help he was, that Galswells," she said, crumbs dropping everywhere. "Didn't even take a cruise around town to look. And then there's my husband, same way, went off to work today as if nothing had happened. 'He's a young man, he's out sowing some oats, he'll be back,' William says. As if my Victor ever sowed an oat in his life. Here, take these, eat, one cannoli isn't enough."

Victoria was too surprised to refuse. She tried to balance the pile of cookies on her lap, but it was unstable. One with a jelly center rolled off and left a crumby trail as it rolled under the sofa. Mrs. Van Dort didn't seem to notice.

"He's not the type to run off," she was saying, fiddling with her earring again. "Not the type _at all_."

Victoria nodded her agreement. She certainly hoped, at least, at Victor didn't have any oats to sow. Except with her, of course. To cover her little smile and blush Victoria took a small bite of her cannoli, considering.

Then she remembered. Last night. Before the romance. Victor's pale, terrified face. The zombie. She swallowed and set down her nibbled cannoli atop the pile of cookies in her lap.

Maybe this was more serious than they thought.


	8. Chapter 8

**8**

Victoria walked at a brisk pace down the hill. As she'd left Mrs. Van Dort had shoved a bulging lunch sack into her hands, filled with leftovers from the tea tray. The smell of vanilla, which usually she liked, seemed cloying to her right now. Maybe it was worry that soured it.

She'd find him. She would. She knew all of his usual haunts, and had a good idea of how Victor spent his free time. He had to be somewhere.

And yet.

Victoria paused at the base of the hill, where the rows of tract houses started. In the yard to one side of her a middle-aged man sprayed a hose over a row of azalea bushes by the walk. When he noticed her he gave her a polite nod before turning off the hose and making his way to the roses nearer the house. He walked with a painful-looking limp. As she watched him, she thought that given the weather he might not need to do so much watering. He could wait for the rain.

There she stood, watching the man water his lovely and well-cared-for garden, thinking about Victor. About the zombie. It seemed she was the only one who knew about that. Why, she'd been the very last person to see Victor before he disappeared, and the only person to have heard about whatever creature had terrified him so.

Something had happened. Something unusual, perhaps dangerous. Victoria felt it in her gut.

Never mind searching town. There was only one place to go. Victoria strode purposefully through the drizzle toward town. Past Dad's bank with the Buick out front, past the church, and on toward the courthouse. Around to the side of the building, in a little brick ell, was the police station.

The room was dark and cool when she stepped inside. Officer Galswells sat behind a heavy, imposing desk. He looked up from a stack of paperwork when he heard the door open.

"Miss Everglot," he said, setting aside his pen. "What are you doing here?"

"I—I need to make a report," Victoria replied, approaching the desk. Under the police chief's gaze she was very aware that she was damp and carrying a bag of baked goods. "About a missing person."

"Is this about the Van Dort boy?"

"Er, yes. Sir," she replied, surprised.

"As I told Mrs. Van Dort," Officer Galswells said heavily, "Victor is not technically missing. He is nearly eighteen, after all. No signs of any disturbance or abduction, no witnesses. If he hasn't returned in twenty-four hours, which I doubt will be the case, he will be declared missing. So, if there's nothing else, young lady-"

"But there _is_ something else!" Victoria interrupted hotly. She clutched her bag of leftovers and pretended it was the policeman's lapel. Officer Galswells raised an eyebrow at her tone. "I think something must have happened to him. You see, last night, at the country club, Victor saw something. Someone."

"Someone?" Galswells sounded skeptical.

"He called it a zombie," Victoria said. "I'm not sure what he saw, but he was terrified. And now he's missing. There _must_ be a connection."

"Zombie?" Galswells repeated slowly. "And what, pray tell, is a zombie?"

"A...a dead person," replied Victoria uneasily, trying to remember Victor's descriptions of his horror comics. She twisted her fingers together. "An animated dead person. That...eats brains."

The silence was awesome. Officer Galswells frowned deeply. Then he made a big show of pulling a notepad toward himself, and picking up a fountain pen.

"So you are telling me," he said, his voice deep and slow as he wrote, "That a 'zombie' was at the country club last night, chased Victor Van Dort, and perhaps has or is planning to-" here he paused to check his notes-"eat his brains."

Victoria didn't like his tone. "I'm just saying that something else might be going on," she said desperately. "And we have to find him. Something isn't right."

"That will do," Officer Galswells said. "Thank you for the report."

Victoria knew a dismissal when she heard one. As she turned to go, she saw Galswells pick up the telephone receiver. She didn't stick around long enough to hear who he was calling.

There was nothing else to do. She might as well go home. Maybe there would be news. Or maybe Victor would be back. Victoria headed back down Main Street. As she passed Van Dort's Plumbing Supplies, she noticed Mr. Van Dort out front, directing the installation of a new window display.

At her approach he turned and grinned. Victoria returned it, though weakly. Mr. Van Dort was a born salesman, and his good humor was often contagious. He was also, she couldn't help noticing, awfully cheerful for a man whose son was missing.

"Well hello there, Miss Everglot!" he said. "What brings you to town on this drizzly day?"

"I'm looking for Victor," Victoria told him. She stepped under the store awning to avoid the rain, which was getting heavier by the moment. "No sign of him anywhere. I'm worried."

"Ah," said Mr. Van Dort. He seemed to be thinking something over. He turned and gave the thumbs-up to the men arranging the display (a new kind of toilet, Victoria saw now), and then said to Victoria, "Why not come inside for a minute?"

He led Victoria through the brightly lit store. She'd never been inside before. It smelled of metal and new plastic. There were toilets and sinks everywhere, bright signs screaming about bargains. Down the center aisle they went, and then up a staircase to Mr. Van Dort's office. It was dominated by a desk, with a chair on either side. A huge window looked out over the sales floor. Mr. Van Dort gestured her into a chair, and he took the one behind the desk.

"Is that cannoli I smell?" Mr. Van Dort asked the moment they'd sat down. Victoria glanced at the lunch sack in her hand, then set it on the desk and pushed it toward him.

"You've been to visit the wife, I see!" he said with a wink. He peeked inside the bag, and plucked out a cannoli. He took a bite. "Nobody makes'em like her. Want one?"

Victoria shook her head. "Aren't you worried about Victor, too?" she asked. "He's been gone all night."

Mr. Van Dort chewed, regarding her. At length he swallowed, and said, "Well, the fact of it is, I saw Victor leave with a girl last night."

"A girl?" Victoria repeated. Mr. Van Dort brushed cannoli crumbs from his mustache and nodded.

"I was having a smoke out by the terrace, and when I went to go back inside I saw Victor over by the hedges. With a girl."

"Oh," said Victoria, sighing with relief. "That...um...it was me."

"No, it wasn't."

The words stung like a slap. Victoria blinked.

"Too tall," Mr. Van Dort said confidently. "Short hair. Long dress." He noticed Victoria's expression. "Er, sorry. To bear bad news. I know you two've been friendly lately."

Victoria took a shaky breath. It was a challenge to keep her voice level when she asked, "Did he seem all right? Frightened?"

"Matter of fact," he replied, rubbing at the back of his neck and not quite meeting her eye, "they looked pretty...cozy. You know, having a little nuzzle. Hugging, like. Next thing I knew they were gone."

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. This was all wrong. "But how...how could he?" she blurted, her voice thin and small.

"I wouldn't worry," Mr. Van Dort said hastily. "Just sowing some oats, you know? I'm sure he'll be back. Just give it some time. Thanks for coming by, dear. And here, tell you what, give this coupon to your Dad. Never know when the old manse might need a re-fit!"

Victoria couldn't answer. She took the proffered coupon and clutched it in a death grip. Somehow, cold and barely seeing, she managed to make it out of the office and through the store. Struggling not to cry, Victoria stepped out of the store and back onto the sidewalk under the awning. It had started to rain heavily. A girl? He'd left with a girl? Who? And why?

Zombie, her aunt Fanny. No wonder he'd been so strange. Had he been hiding this, keeping another girl a secret, this whole time? Had he been lying through his teeth when he'd said how much he liked her? She'd never in million years have imagined it of him. Not in a million years.

Victoria couldn't keep it in any longer. Tears streamed down her face, and she brushed at them with her fingers.

Headlights were visible through the rain, and then Dad's Buick heaved up to the curb. The back window rolled down to reveal Dad's deeply frowning face.

"Get in," said Dad.

 **0-0  
**

Victor was surprised by how comfortable he felt wandering among the dead. More comfortable than he did in the living world, even. There wasn't anything scary down here. A little gross, sure, but not scary. As he walked he rehearsed what he wanted to say to Emily when he found her. He couldn't just wander around forever. The novelty was wearing off, and he badly wanted to go home.

Eventually he managed to find Emily's crypt again. There she was, perched on the stone slab that served as a front step, her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. A battered little radio, glowing with an otherworldly green light, sat on the ground beside her. Somehow it was picking up a signal. Strains of the Blues came through the speakers.

When Emily saw him coming, she averted her eyes. When he feebly greeted her, she made a show of reaching over and turning up the volume on the radio. Victor sighed.

"Look, I'm sorry I hurt your feelings," he said, competing with the noise. "I was rude. I was just frustrated, you know? This whole thing...it's kind of...kind of weird. You know?"

Emily just glowered. Victor gave up. He sat on the slab beside her, a bit surprised that she didn't move away or tell him to get lost. He too rested his elbows on his knees. As he always did in times of stress, Victor found himself focusing on the music. Low and soulful, the kind that grabs you by the insides. The kind that comes from a place of pure feeling.

Victor had never been very good at playing music like that. Too passionate, somehow. Too earthy. It didn't come naturally, as much as he loved the style. He'd tried some blues on the piano a few times, and had quickly given up. It was enough to listen to recordings, to appreciate it rather than to make it.

"It's because of my head, isn't it?" Emily asked, breaking into Victor's private little music appreciation session. Her tone was angry and sad at once. "And because some bits of me fall off sometimes. It's worse than having a pimple. Who'd want to take a rotting girl to the prom?"

"I...it's...it's not that," Victor replied, turning to her. "You're pretty. Really. And very nice. Under different circumstances, sure, I'd take you to the prom."

All of this, he was surprised to realize, was true.

"But I've _got a girlfriend_ ," he said. "And you're—well... _dead_."

"Sure, throw that in my face." Emily plucked a petal off her corsage and twirled it between her fingers. Victor sighed.

For a while they sat, glum. The radio played on, but Victor was too distracted to appreciate it. Eventually Emily sighed deeply and ran her skeletal hand through her hair. Victor, mindful of what he'd just told her, didn't look away when her head wound was exposed.

"I was so excited about the prom," she said reflectively. "I spent all my savings on this dress. I spent most of the school year planning and designing for prom night. And I really liked George. The weather was perfect, warm and clear. The sky was absolutely gorgeous. It was going to be a magical night."

Victor slumped a little further down with every word she spoke. Everyone deserved at least one magical night. He thought of his brief moment with Victoria outside the country club. And hated himself a bit.

"And then," Emily went on, "it was all over. Boom. There was a little dog on the road that George swerved to miss. We went right through the guard-rail. I'll never forget the noise it made. And we flipped upside down—I saw the sky one last time—and then nothing."

As she spoke, she used her hands to mime the car sailing over the bridge, flipping in the air. Victor watched, heart breaking for her.

"All those dreams. Just taken from me." She sighed again, and hugged her knees.

"I'm so sorry," Victor said, meaning it with every ounce of his being. "I really am. That's terrible, and unfair, and I—I'm sorry."

Emily didn't answer. She only took a moment, and then said, "I've been sitting here thinking about it. About everything. And I decided I can't hold you to an invitation you didn't mean to make, just so I can go to a prom. That's selfish."

Victor's heart leapt. "Are...are you sure? I mean, really, I feel bad about it, but if you're really saying you don't mind, then thank you so much. I really appreciate it. If you're really sure-"

Emily stopped his babbling with a sideways look. "It's your loss," she said with just the hint of a laugh in her voice. Victor grinned a bit in return.

"I don't even know how to dance," Victor said ruefully.

Emily snorted. "Everybody can dance," she replied.

"Everybody cannot."

"It's all in the timing," Emily insisted, "and feeling the music. Do you play an instrument?"

"The piano," Victor told her.

"Then you can feel music. And that means you can dance," Emily said confidently. Victor just shook his head.

"Here, before we go," she said, standing and holding out her skeletal hand, "I'll show you. So you can impress your girlfriend."

Again with the air quotes. Thrilled by the prospect of getting to go home, released from this insane misunderstanding, Victor ignored it. He took her hand.

It was nothing fancy. Emily mostly just showed him how not to step on her feet. They swayed and stepped together to the Blues, and Victor found himself getting the hang of it. Emily, though her eyes were still sad, smiled and was kind and patient as she gave instructions. Soon, Victor was smiling and moving with confidence.

For that moment, he forgot that Emily was dead. He forgot Victoria waiting for him among the living. He forgot about going home.

There was just the two of them feeling the music.


	9. Chapter 9

**9**

"Oh, aren't you two just adorable!"

Victor and Emily stopped in mid-step. They turned to see Emily's mother standing at the crypt door, gazing at them.

"Practicing for the big night, are we?" Emily's mother said. Her smile was almost too big for her face. A wave of guilt washed over Victor just then. He remembered the desperate look she'd had when she'd ordered him not to let Emily down.

 _But you're not!_ Victor told himself. _She let you off the hook! Fair and square!_

But somehow it didn't feel that way.

Gently Victor disengaged from Emily and stepped slightly away. A fleeting look of sadness passed over Emily's features. She turned and bent to turn off the radio.

"Er, actually, ma'am," said Victor awkwardly, rubbing at the back of his neck, "We're not— _ouch!_ "

Emily had stepped on his foot to shut him up. Her heels were sharp.

"Let her think we're going," Emily hissed. "It's important to her. She's been really weird about it ever since she died."

"Oh," he said thinly. "Okay." He turned back to her mother.

"Oh yes!" he said, aware even to his own ears that he was overdoing it a little. His foot throbbed painfully. "We're all set to leave. Um, all dressed and practiced and ready to go! Uh...I'll...have her back before curfew."

Without looking Victor somehow knew Emily was rolling her eyes amusedly at him. He put out a foot and stepped gently on her toes in return, as a joke. It took him a moment to remember she couldn't feel it. The thought made him sad.

Emily's mother didn't seem to have noticed any of this, however. She clasped her hands delightedly. "I'm sure you will! And I'm sure you'll both have a lovely time. But first, come in and pose for a photo!"

"Oh, Mother, we really don't have to do that, do we?" Emily asked, her voice coming close to a whine. Her mother waved her off.

"It's _what's done_!" she insisted, stepping aside so that Victor and Emily could step into the crypt. After a glance at each other they did so.

Soon enough the two of them were posed in front of an elaborate ebony coffin. The lid was propped up to show off the satin interior. Victor figured this passed for their living room couch. Emily stood next to him, her arm through his. Awkwardly Victor tried to brush the dirt off his sport coat. A short skeleton wearing the tattered remains of a pinstripe suit was already in the room. Amazingly, he still had a bushy beard, and he held an old-fashioned box camera.

"I got Mr. Johanssen to come to take your picture!" Emily's mother trilled. Mr. Johanssen nodded. "I want to remember your perfect night, darling!"

"Thanks, Mother," Emily replied. Victor looked at her sideways, trying to catch her eye, but Emily wasn't looking at him. Victor stifled a sigh. He felt like the biggest, worst jerk in the entire world just then. In that moment, fresh off their dancing lesson, and posed as if they were going on a date, Victor almost wanted to take her to the prom.

But he had to see Victoria first. He needed to. She must be worried sick about him. And Mom would be flipping out completely. Victor had never been so torn. He swallowed.

"You look great, kids," the photographer said, looking into his viewfinder. "Hold, please."

Victor and Emily held. Instinctively they both smiled for the camera.

0–0

"Will the mortification _never_ cease?"

Victoria sat on her windowseat in her room, hugging her knees to her chest. Mother was glaring at her from her post near the door. Victoria felt numb. Thunder crashed outside, and rain continued to patter on the window behind her.

Dad, surprisingly, had not said a word in the car on the way home. Victoria had just let her tears silently fall, wiping at them every now and again. It was Mother who'd let her have it. Recovered enough to have put on her silk dressing gown and set her hair, Mother had marched Victoria up the stairs and into her room. And the tirade had begun. Victoria was an embarrassment, how dare she leave the radio on tuned to that inane station, who in society would ever look at them again. Et cetera. Victoria was only half-listening.

"Sneaking out, raving about _zombies_ to the police—what on earth is wrong with you?"

Mother finally stopped to take a breath.

"I thought Victor needed help," Victoria said dully. The betrayal cut through her insides all over again. She closed her eyes against it.

"That entire family needs help," Mother was quick to reply. "Not any sort we're qualified to give, however. Talk about mortification—disappearing from the country club _overnight_ with a girl. The Van Dorts will never live that one down. I'll be surprised if they show their faces at the club again."

Mother clearly relished the thought. Victoria just blinked at her, wishing she'd go away and leave her to her misery.

"I'm sorry I embarrassed you, Mother," she tried, hoping she sounded contrite enough. Mother pursed her lips.

"You can make it up to me," Mother told her. She crossed her arms and leaned against the vanity. A small smile Victoria didn't like the look of played around the very edges of her mouth.

"Barry Barkis," Mother continued. Victoria's stomach dropped as if she was in an elevator. "He wants to take you out tonight. Dinner at the club and dancing over in Burtonville. Go, make a good impression, and I won't ground you. Deal?"

Victoria stared. "I don't think Barry wants to take me anywhere," she said honestly. "His father's forcing him."

"Your grandfather Everglot 'forced' your father to take me out on our first date," Mother replied. She looked rather proud. "And look at us now."

Admittedly, Victoria saw that as more of a cautionary tale than an inspiration, but she didn't have the energy to argue.

"I don't mind being grounded," she said instead. After today she'd like nothing more than to isolate herself in her bedroom and never go out or talk to anyone ever again.

Mother frowned deeply. "I'll put it another way: Barry is going to call you. He's going to ask you out this evening. You are going to go."

"But, Mother," Victoria protested, "I don't even _like_ him." Let alone love him like she loved Victor. Or had loved Victor. She had to remember the past tense. Oh, her insides hurt too much. She just wanted to curl up in bed. She pressed her chin into her knees, smelling the laundry soap Hildegarde washed all the clohes in.

Another roll of thunder filled the silence between them. Something in Mother's face shifted. She heaved a long-suffering sigh, and then came over to join Victoria on the windowseat.

"Listen, Victoria," she said in an entirely new tone. "I know that Van Dort boy threw you over. I'm sorry, but I did warn you. It's just like your father and Mamie Cartwright. You're going to sit and be miserable about it for weeks like your father was? You're tougher than that. Victor Van Dort is _gone,_ dear. Move on."

This was, perhaps, the kindest thing Mother had ever said to her. Through her pain, Victoria could see the wisdom in what her mother said. Victor was off having a good time with someone else. Why shouldn't she? Barry wasn't _that_ bad. It might even be fun. Maybe.

What else was she going to do? After another moment, Victoria nodded. "I'll do it," she said.

"Wonderful! So buck up and get dressed!" Mother said, clapping her hands together smartly. "Wear that strapless pink dress from last spring's formal. You may wear my garnets with it."

Garnets. Great. Victoria just nodded again. She couldn't quite believe this was happening. That this entire day had happened, had gone so spectacularly, insanely off the rails. She felt as if she were being swept up in a tide and hauled out to sea.

 _Maybe you'll land somewhere better,_ she thought, trying to comfort herself. But she had trouble believing it. She'd never felt so torn over something in her life.

Downstairs the telephone rang, swiftly echoed by the upstairs extension. Mother fairly beamed as she went to answer it. A moment later she was back.

"It's for you," Mother said, gesturing grandly in the direction of the upstairs phone table.

Victoria rose, walked into the hall, and took the phone all with the air of someone condemned. Slowly she brought the receiver to her ear. She swallowed around the lump in her throat.

"Hello," she said miserably.


	10. Chapter 10

**10**

Photos taken, dust and grave dirt brushed from their clothes, and their hair neatened, Victor and Emily made their way out of the crypt. At the end of the little lane they turned to wave to Emily's mother.

Emily sighed deeply. "I feel bad, lying to her," she said. She looked up at Victor, a sad half-smile on her face. "To be honest, I also feel bad that we're not going to prom. After all this."

Victor swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat. He didn't know what to say. So he just stared down at his shoes, freshly buffed by Emily's mother. Emily sighed again.

"What now?" Victor ventured. Emily was stroking the limp dead flowers of her corsage. "How do I get home?"

"You know," Emily replied, sounding genuinely baffled, "I have no idea."

Victor's heart sank. Maybe he was trapped. Trapped for good. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his sport coat. His fingers found the Cub Scout pin he'd wanted to give Victoria. He turned it over, held it tightly. His life. His life was waiting. He belonged in the world of the living. With Victoria. He had to get home. He _had_ to. He was so close.

"How did you get to the country club the first time?" he asked, frustration creeping into his tone. Emily had her skeletal fingers to her freshly lipsticked mouth. He watched her think.

"I'm really not sure," she confessed. She glanced up at him. "I heard you ask me to prom, and then suddenly I was there."

Victor blinked. Then he was struck by an idea.

He reached out and took Emily's hands in his. Her eyes searched his face. Victor looked at her, so sad and lovely, decked out freshly for prom, her dead eyes so alive. It was a strong feeling, a strong need, which had let her rise. Maybe he could make her feel something like that again. He ignored the little voice in the back of his head that was calling him a selfish schmuck.

"Emily," he said, serious and kind. "Please. It's been so great spending time with you, it really has. I'm so sorry about the way it worked out. If things were different, I mean...But I really need to go home. Will you please take me back where I belong?"

At that she looked ready to cry. Her red lips quivered a bit. She squeezed his hands. She nodded. When she closed her eyes, Victor followed suit.

He felt something like a warm wind envelope them, and then the oddest sensation of traveling without moving an inch. And when he opened his eyes a moment later, he and Emily were hand in hand on the lawn of the country club.

Victor took a deep, deep breath of good fresh air. It had been raining. Slow clouds moved across the dark sky. It was early evening. The grass was wet and he could smell earth and hear the river. The clubhouse actually looked inviting to him at the moment. The world was beautiful and he was so happy to be home and alive.

Emily opened her eyes and took a look around. She looked up at the sky and squeezed his hands again.

"It's been a long time since I saw the stars," she said. She looked so sad.

"Thank you," Victor said. He was surprised to hear how thick his voice sounded. "Really. Thank you."

Emily just gave a little shrug. "You're welcome," she said. "It was nice to meet you. Have a nice life, Victor."

She turned, slow and regal, and began to make her way down the hill toward the river. She almost seemed to glow. While he was grateful for fresh air and thrilled to be home, all the same Victor's heart was breaking as he watched her walk away from him.

He was going to return to normal, and she would...what? Go back to being sad and alone, pretending to her dead mother that she'd been to prom? Her death would be even worse after this. It was all his fault.

Victor turned away, unable to look at her anymore. What was done was done. She'd freed him. It was her choice. And he'd made the choice to take it. So he'd make the most of it.

He made his way up the sloping lawn toward the club. All the lights were on, and he could hear some faint music. He'd use the phone at the club to call Victoria first, and then he'd call his parents. He had no idea what he was going to tell them. The truth was too insane. He'd have to come up with something.

When he reached the terrace outside the lounge, he stopped to let his eyes adjust. It'd been dark in the land of the dead. The dining room in the club was very brightly lit. Saturday. It must be Saturday night, it was crowded and everyone was dressed to the nines. A little stage was set up for the weekly music later on. He sighed with relief. He'd only been gone a day. Victor got closer and peered into the room, scanning faces on the off-chance his parents were there. What he saw shattered his already breaking heart into smithereens.

It was Victoria. With Barry Barkis.

Victor stared, mouth agape. Victoria wasn't facing him, but he had a clear view of her profile. She wore more makeup and jewelry than he'd ever seen her wear, and her dress was fancier. She looked beautiful. Alluring, even. And it wasn't for him.

Barry sat across from her, leaning in and talking. The table was so small there was hardly any distance between them at all. While he couldn't see her expression clearly, Victoria wasn't leaning away or looking bored or anything like that. They looked pretty cozy. Almost like they'd done this before.

 _How...how could she?_ Victor thought. Had everything been a lie? Had she been two-timing him this entire time? Every time she'd smiled at him, every time they'd talked, and when she'd agreed to go steady with him, none of that was real? Much to his embarrassment he felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, and he blinked them away hard. The pair of them. Barry and Victoria. The country club set. He'd never have thought her capable of this. Never in a million years.

He took a shaky breath, and then a step backward, back into the shadows. His feet slid a little on the wet grass. He stared out over at the river. In the shadows under the bridge he could still just see Emily. She hadn't left yet. She too was contemplating the water, the stars. Enjoying it one last time.

Well. There was still one girl he could do right by, could make happy. It was Saturday night. Prom night. He hadn't missed it. Emily, at least, could come out of this happy. If Victoria was happier with someone else, then...well...her loss.

"Her loss," Victor said. But the words felt hollow, hollow as the big empty space in his chest where his heart used to be. Frowning, he reached into his pocket and grabbed the pin. Before he could think better of it, he tossed it underhand into the hedges. He didn't wait to hear it land.

He took off running down the slope toward Emily, trying not to slip in the muddy grass. It wouldn't do to go to prom looking like a mess.


	11. Chapter 11

**11**

"Emily!" Victor called. He skidded to a stop on the riverbank. Just where he'd been practicing the other night. Emily had just taken a step into the water. She turned.

"Victor," she said, puzzled. She looked him up and down. "What happened? You look like somebody sucker-punched you."

Heedless of his shoes getting wet, Victor took a step toward her. He pushed his sweaty hair off his forehead.

"Emily, I was a jerk," he told her. "A complete jerk. Let me make it up to you. I want to take you to prom."

Emily cocked an eyebrow. "What about your girlfriend?" she asked. This time, at least, the tone was appropriate. The picture of Victoria all dolled up with Barry Barkis flitted across his brain and for a moment left him speechless.

"I, well..." he trailed off, unsure of what to say.

Emily, though, burst into a huge grin. "You made up the girlfriend, didn't you?" She put her hands on her hips and said, "That was pretty dirty of you."

"I...I guess I did. Make it up," Victor said, his throat constricting. "I'm sorry. It wasn't very nice."

"I knew it!" Emily said, coming up to him and punching him gently, playfully, on the shoulder. "I knew it. It sounded so fake. I mean, 'Victor and Victoria'? That's just a little _too_ perfect."

"Yeah," said Victor. "I guess it is."

"You really mean it? About prom?" Emily asked. She looked so hopeful. So forgiving. Victor steeled himself.

"Yes, I really mean it," he told her. He took her hand. "You deserve it."

"Oh, you doll!" Emily cried, and threw her arms around his neck. Gingerly he patted her back. She smelled of dead leaves, and felt so papery and fragile against him. Emily pulled away, happiness lighting up her dead features.

"I forgive you," she told him. "And don't worry, all I want is to dance and see everyone all dressed up. It's not like we're getting married or anything!"

Swept up now in Emily's happiness and the sheer insanity of taking a dead girl to the prom, Victor grinned and took hold of her hand. He led her around the side of the club, through the parking lot and past all the lit windows, through the gates and down the hill. Emily, beaming, held onto his arm and trotted in her heels to keep pace.

"We'll go to my house and talk to Mayhew," Victor told her as they neared his house. "He's our driver. We'll get him to take us in one of our cars." He stopped, realizing, and looked sideways at her.

"Is—is a car okay?" he asked awkwardly. To his relief Emily giggled and squeezed his arm.

"The _car_ didn't kill me, silly!" she replied. "At least not on its own. Of course it's okay. I've never been in a car with a driver before!"

They smiled at each other. Victor hadn't given one backward glance at the club all the way down the hill toward his house. He didn't dare to. He'd left too big a chunk of his heart back there. For the same reason he resolutely did not look at the Everglots' house on their way by.

Instead, he focused on Emily, who was still hanging onto his arm as they went up the Van Dorts' walk. Emily oohed appreciatively at the house and lawn.

"Wow, it's the first time I've ever been to a house on Nob Hill," she said, going up the steps ahead of him and doing a little turn. "Look at this porch! You could fit the house I grew up in on this porch!" She looked at him, still down on the walk.

Victor trotted up the steps to stand with her, and he tried to see everything as she was seeing it. All the lights were on in the house, and he could just faintly hear the murmur of the radio in the front room. The lights were on in the garage, as well. So Mayhew must still be around.

"It's so... _nice_ up here," Emily continued, turning again, more slowly this time, taking it all in. "It's nice to see a real lived-in house again."

The look on her face. Victor was so struck by it. What must it be like, he wondered as he gazed at her, to have one more shot at living after such a long time dead? All the more reason to show her the best time he possibly could. And if anybody had a problem with it, well—they could go jump up a rope.

Victor smiled and took her skeletal elbow. "Come on," he said, "Come in for a minute while I go talk to Mayhew about the car."

Emily's smile back was radiant. Even though he knew she was dead, it was getting harder and harder to think of her that way. She was just so _alive_. He led her to the front door and put his hand on the knob.

Before he could turn it, though, the front door flew open to reveal Mom. She was in her shocking pink housecoat, and she'd already put her hair up in rollers. The look on her still-made-up face was murderous.

"Oh!" said Victor. "Uh, hi, Mom."

Mom just glowered, her arms crossed over her chest. Her fuzzy-slippered foot tapped ominously on the floor of the entry. Victor cleared his throat.

" _Where_ have you _been_?" Mom asked, her voice low and dangerous. She must really be angry. Usually she shouted and pointed fingers and swore in Italian. When she was truly furious, she got quiet. And Victor got nervous. The hair on the back of his neck stood up a little.

"Mom, this is Emily," he said quickly. He slid a careful arm around Emily's waist and tugged her gently into the light spilling from the open door. "It's a long story, but I'm taking her to the prom."

Mom glanced at Emily, and then did a double take. Her eyes widened. Victor, who'd grown used to how Emily looked, tried to put himself in his mother's shoes. When Emily smiled, her red lipstick was glaring against her blue skin. A bit of her cheek had split as well, Victor noticed, exposing more of her skeletal jawline and teeth. Her hair hid the worst of her crushed skull, but the dent was still there. In the light from the hall it was easier to see the places where her dress had rotted through. No doubt about it, this was a dead girl. Mom made a strangled noise, and clutched at her housecoat.

Emily, still smiling, extended her hand toward Victor's mother.

"Nice to meet you!" she said brightly.

Victor and Emily watched as Mom's eyes rolled back in her head. Before either of them could move, she collapsed in a dead faint in the foyer. The force of her fall shook an end table, and the vase it held crashed to the floor. Victor winced. Emily put her hand to her mouth.

"Oh dear," she said.

0–0

Dinner was agonizing. Positively agonizing. Neither Victoria nor Barry wanted to be there, and the meal was full of awkward silences. The only time Barry talked at length was early on, when he'd leaned across their little table toward her to say he was sorry about all this.

Victoria had just shrugged and sighed inwardly. Who cared anymore? She'd let Mother do her makeup and felt as if she had a pound of paint on her face. She'd also gained a bit of weight since the last time she'd worn this dress. Her girdle was so tight she could hardly talk without gasping, and she was positively spilling out of her sweetheart neckline.

Finally they'd refused dessert and coffee, and Barry had handed her wordlessly into his car. For a while they drove, not speaking, the radio the only noise. Victoria glumly watched her house go by, and resolutely did not look at Victor's.

"I don't really feel much like going out, do you?" Barry asked, eyes on the road.

"No, not really," Victoria replied.

Barry nodded. Instead of taking her home, though, he kept on driving. Out through Main Street and toward the outskirts of town. Midway through a flat stretch with cornfields on either side, he took a left turn down a dirt road.

"Where are we going?" Victoria asked. She'd never been out here before. If she'd had more gumption at the moment she might have got nervous. As it was, she couldn't quite bring herself to care.

Barry glanced at her. "A place I know."

Victoria sat back and folded her hands in her lap. She looked up at the quickly clearing sky, trying to find constellations among the blanket of stars. Stargazing was something she'd fantasized about doing with Victor. He might be looking up at the stars right now, new girlfriend beside him.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. Yesterday seemed like forever ago.

Barry pulled into a little clearing. They must be near the lake. Victoria could hear frogs through the open window.

"Let's run down the clock," said Barry, turning off the engine and unbuckling his seatbelt. After a moment Victoria did the same. Barry fiddled with the dial on the radio until he found something he liked. Victoria didn't recognize it.

"This okay?" he asked.

"It's fine," she replied.

For a long time they sat without speaking. The smell of Barry's aftershave filled the car. Through the windshield Victoria could see the stars even better now. It looked as if there were millions of them, this far from the lights of town.

"I was kind of surprised you came out tonight," Barry said suddenly. Victoria glanced over to find him looking at her. "I thought you and Victor Van Dort were going together."

To hear it from someone else's mouth, the fact that it was so obvious between her and Victor, hurt worse than anything. It was a confirmation that she hadn't been delusional. And further confirmation that she'd been very cruelly thrown over. A sob clutched at her throat.

"So did I," she said thickly. She took a minute to compose herself before she added, "I guess he found someone he liked better." It hurt unbearably to say it.

"Yeah," Barry said slowly, shifting uncomfortably. "Yeah. I heard a rumor. Hard to believe, though."

 _Oh shut up shut up shut up_ , Victoria thought viciously. She didn't need Barry's pity. He was sitting with his arm resting on the car door just below the window, his other hand tapping at the steering wheel. He looked out toward the lake when he spoke next.

"If it's any consolation, I know how you feel," he said. "I got dumped. A month ago. Over the phone. Three years we'd been together. I was planning to propose. And she dumped me over the _phone_. Turned out she didn't want to wait for a lawyer. Took up too much of my time. Last I heard she was engaged to someone from her tennis club."

He shook his head. He'd said all this flatly, but the set of his mouth betrayed how deeply hurt and angry he was.

"I'm sorry," Victoria said sincerely. "That's terrible. I'm sorry you didn't get to propose to her."

Barry shrugged. "Thanks," he said. He glanced at her. "I'm sorry you won't get to be Water Fixture Princess."

Victoria half-laughed, half-sobbed, and Barry gave a rueful kind of chuckle. Victoria sighed as deeply as her tight girdle would allow.

"I guess in disappointment we're a perfect match," joked Victoria weakly. Barry snorted, but good naturedly and not unkindly.

"Yes, I guess we are," he replied.

Somehow the atmosphere in the car shifted then. Almost, but not quite, the feeling she remembered from being close to Victor. Almost, but not quite. Just the electricity with none of the warmth.

Victor was with his new girlfriend. He'd gone off with another girl and the entire town knew. All the lovely time they'd spent together had meant nothing. Just like always, Victoria had been a placeholder, a girl to practice on before someone more fun came along. Nearly eighteen years old and never so much as kissed. Always left out. Always left behind.

When Victoria slid across the bench seat and kissed Barry full on the mouth, she was fueled mostly by rage. At Victor, at her circumstances, at her mother, at the other girl, at herself. She really didn't know what she was doing. She just closed her eyes and pressed her mouth to his.

She'd timed it badly. He'd been getting ready to say something, and his mouth was partway open, so she mostly got his lower lip between hers. Their teeth clacked together.

Victoria, face warm and lips wet, pulled away. Her breath was coming a little quicker. She'd never done anything like that before.

"Wow," Barry said after a moment. Not in a flattering way. She was mortified.

"Sorry," she muttered, head down. She started to slide back to her side of the seat, but Barry stopped her, one arm around her shoulders and one around her waist.

"Oh no," he said. "Don't be." And he leaned in.

With Barry in the lead the kissing was much more expert. A lot fewer teeth. Victoria did her best to lose herself in the moment, marveling at the fact that she was actually _parking._ Remarkable. She returned kiss for kiss and did her best to let Barry make her forget she'd ever heard of Victor Van Dort.


	12. Chapter 12

**12**

"Is she going to be okay?" Emily asked.

"She'll be fine," Victor replied.

Together they'd managed to haul Mom into the living room and lay her on the sofa. Emily had picked up a copy of _Better Homes and Gardens_ and was fanning her with it. Victor had poured her a glass of water, and he set it on the coffee table for when she regained consciousness.

"Dad should be home soon. He works late," he added. The wall clock in the living room said it was nearly nine. Like every other social occasion involving teenagers in Officer Galswell's jurisdiction, prom only lasted until ten.

"Well, we should probably get going," Victor said, noting the time. Emily nodded and gave Mom one last fan. On the way out Victor glanced back over his shoulder at his mother there on the couch, still out for the count. When she started to snore gently, Victor was even more reassured that she'd be okay.

Emily stopped at the mirror in the front hall to check her makeup and hair. She frowned at herself critically, and poked at the bit of skin that was peeling from her cheek. Then she fluffed her hair until she achieved an effect that pleased her.

"How do I look?" she asked, turning from the mirror. Victor took her in. They'd turned off most of the lights on their way out, and the warm half-light was flattering to her. She'd picked most of the mold off her gown before they'd left the crypt, so the form-fitting silk looked worn but elegant. Plus, she was smiling. She had a beautiful smile. It lit up her entire face.

"You look great," he replied honestly. "Really."

Smiling, he held out a hand, which she took with a giggle. Out the door they went and over to the garage. The garage, set around the back of the house, was nearly as big as the mansion itself. It had four bays, an apartment overhead, and was Mayhew's favorite place in the world. Victor used to visit him in the garage often when he was younger.

When they walked in, Mayhew was simonizing the Skylark and humming to himself in the third bay. The lighting seemed harsh after the darkness outside. Victor blinked.

"Hi, Mayhew!" he called, his voice echoing through the cavernous garage. Mayhew turned. When he saw Victor he grinned hugely.

"Victor! You're back!" he said. He didn't even bother to put down his wax and rag before he came over to thump Victor paternally on the back. "We've been wondering all day where you slipped off to. Everything okay?"

"It's a really long story," said Victor. "I'll tell you all about it later. But right now, I need a favor. If that's okay."

"Sure, anything you need," replied Mayhew. Victor gestured toward Emily, who'd been standing quietly off to the side during the little reunion.

"This is Emily," Victor said, and Emily gave a little wave. "I'm taking her to prom. Could you give us a ride?"

Mayhew looked at Emily, and then dropped his Simoniz. The can hit the driveway and rolled off into the shadows. For a second he gawped, his mouth working but no sound coming out.

"Lovely to meet you!" said Emily cheerily.

"Er...uh...likewise," Mayhew managed. The poor guy was a shade paler than milk. He lifted his cap and scratched his head. "Hey, uh, Victor? A minute?"

Mayhew took Victor's elbow and pulled him aside, over by the worktable. Emily hung back and examined Dad's pride and joy, the blue Cadillac.

"Now, I don't want to be rude or anything," Mayhew said in a low voice. He glanced quickly at Emily, who was peering into the Cadillac's back window. "But...this... _girl_. I think she's dead."

"She is," Victor replied, also speaking quietly.

"That's weird, Victor," Mayhew said heavily. "Really weird."

"I know," Victor said. "Boy, do I know."

There was a silence. Then Mayhew blew out a gusty breath and scratched his head again.

"You didn't do any weird voodoo thing, did you?" he asked, looking Victor square in the eye.

"Of course not," Victor replied, a little offended.

"And...you're not planning any...any...well... _funny_ business, are you?"

It took a second for Victor to grasp Mayhew's meaning. When he did, he bristled a bit. "Of _course_ not! No way!" he said.

After a moment, Mayhew nodded. Victor sighed. "Like I said, it's a _really_ long story and I promise I'll fill you in. But for now, Emily is a girl who just wants to go to prom because she never got to. It means a lot to her. And it turns out I'm the guy to take her. That's all there is to it. Okay?"

"Okay," said Mayhew. He still sounded a little unsure. But to his credit, he tossed his rag onto the worktable and brushed off his hands. Then he straightened his cap.

"Since it's a special occasion, let's take the Caddy out, shall we?" he said. Victor grinned.

0-0

Victoria was enjoying it. She was. Barry's gentle but confident exploring hands. His strong, well-muscled arms around her. The feel of his hair under her fingers. He'd lifted her legs and put them over his lap, and she even liked the way her full skirt had been rucked up nearly to her garter.

So why couldn't she stop thinking about Victor? Try as she might, she simply couldn't get him out of her head. Every time Barry touched her someplace new, she found herself pretending it was Victor. Every time Barry kissed her, she found herself missing the warmth she'd felt with Victor. As much fun as she was having, she couldn't help thinking how much more fun it would be with the boy she really liked.

Victoria loved Victor. And the more she thought about it, the more she refused to believe that a boy she loved would treat her so badly. Mr. Van Dort must have been wrong. _Everybody_ had been wrong. Victoria wanted to hear from Victor's own mouth that he didn't love her anymore. Because she was sure that, yesterday at least, Victor had loved her very much.

She had to find him. She would not give him up. Not that easily.

"Barry?" she whispered, her mouth close to his ear. His skin was warm, and his cologne was dizzying.

"Mmm?" he had his mouth in the soft place where her neck met her shoulder. One of his hands was sliding up her thigh, fingers running along the top of her stocking.

"I—I think that's enough."

Barry stopped with a sigh. He gave her thigh a friendly sort of pat before taking his hand away and pulling away from her. Freed, Victoria slid back to her side of the seat and smoothed her skirt down. She also yanked up the top of her dress, which had slid down quite a lot. Barry had pulled out a comb and was fixing his hair in the rearview mirror.

"I guess it _is_ always the quiet ones," he remarked to himself. He cleared his throat and put his comb back in his pocket. "Wow."

Victoria didn't know whether that was a compliment or not, so she just buckled her seatbelt. Barry wiped at his mouth to get the lipstick smears off, and then turned on the engine. In silence that was almost companionable they drove back toward town.

Hands folded over her purse in her lap, Victoria stared out the window. Cornfields. Town again. As soon as Barry dropped her off she'd go right to the Van Dorts' house to see if Victor had turned up. She needed to do _something_. Anything.

They were nearing the high school now. All the lights were on, and the parking lot was packed. There were even a few cars parked along the street. Barry slowed down as they passed.

"Prom night," he said. Victoria swallowed. She looked out over the sea of cars. She could see some kids milling around near the doors. Faint music and laughter reached them through the car windows. Somehow it made her sad to see all the public school kids in their finery, out having fun. That left-out feeling again. She sighed.

Headlights off to the side caught her eye. A Cadillac had just pulled into the side lot of the school, creating a parking spot for itself up on the grass. Victoria twisted in her seat. She knew that car. That was one of Mr. Van Dort's cars. He took it out on Sundays. Barry sped up as the road cleared, and she nearly put her whole head out the window to look back at the Cadillac.

Just before the view disappeared as Barry turned a corner, she saw Victor step out of the back of the car. Victoria gasped.

 _He's back!_ Was the first joyful thought that entered her mind. _He's okay!_ Her heart swelled, but the joy quickly subsided. He was going to prom. Presumably with someone who wasn't her. Victoria faced forward again. They were passing houses now. Nearly home. She took all of five seconds to decide what she had to do.

"Stop!" Victoria cried. "Stop the car!"

"What?" Barry cried, alarmed. He slammed on the brakes, throwing both of them forward against their seatbelts. "Cat? Dog? What?"

Victoria had already unbuckled and was stepping out of the car. "What are you doing?" Barry demanded. "We're in the middle of the street!" She shut the door, and leaned in through the open window.

"Thanks for a nice night," she told him. Adrenaline was coursing through her, practically making her vibrate. If she didn't get out of here now she was going to lose her nerve. "Sorry for the trouble." Before she turned to go, she fished her pin money, five dollars, out of her bag. She held it out to him.

"You're _paying_ me?" Barry asked, staring at the money in her fist. Victoria gave a little shrug.

"For...gasoline. And the trouble," she said. Barry blinked.

"Fine," he said, snatching the bill from Victoria's hand. "Fine. I'll take the money. Fine. I'm getting out of here."

This last wasn't directed at her, she didn't think. Victoria stepped onto the sidewalk and watched as Barry, tires squealing, made a k-turn in the nearest driveway. He almost hit the mailbox. He sped off in the direction of Main Street.

Victoria didn't have the time or the space in her head to wonder where he was going. Instead, she hauled up the slipping top of her dress, set her jaw, and headed for the high school. She was going to get some answers.


	13. Chapter 13

**13**

The dance was well underway by the time Victor and Emily arrived. The sky had cleared above the jammed school parking lot, and the breeze was fresh. It was late. A few lights were on in the main part of the school, but all the action was over by the gymnasium on the far side of the parking lot. Victor hoped they'd be able to slip in, have a dance, and then be done with it. No one the wiser.

They thanked Mayhew for the ride, and he waved them on. "I'll wait here," he said. "Nice night out."

"It is!" Emily agreed happily. She took Victor's arm. She was practically vibrating with joy. "Let's go!"

For a moment Victor was startled by how confidently she steered him past the main building and toward the gym. Then he remembered. She'd gone to school here, too. She'd walked these halls, decorated the gym, put up posters in the hallways...a wave of melancholy swept over him. And after the melancholy, his first wave of dread. Someday he'd die, too. He'd just be a memory. Everything he knew and cared about and felt and did. All gone. The thought made his throat constrict. He might enjoy an afterlife in the land of the dead, but as far as the living world was concerned...

"You're awfully quiet all of a sudden!" Emily said, breaking into his thoughts. She was moving them along at a good clip, her heels clicking on the asphalt. They were headed up the path to the gym now. The outer doors were propped open, revealing the little entry which led to the inner gym doors.

"Sorry," Victor said. He shook his head a little to clear out the cobwebby thoughts of mortality. Emily gave his arm a squeeze. Too hard. The top knuckle of her pinkie snapped off and fell to the ground.

"Oops," she said, noticing. After a quick glance around, she kicked it with the tip of her shoe into the bushes. "I hope nobody saw that!"

Up to the doors they went, leaving Emily's finger behind them. Victor felt a little bad in advance for whatever maintenance guy might find it.

Much to Victor's surprise, someone was still behind the ticket table in the entry. The girl was busily sifting through index cards and putting them in a small cardboard box. When she glanced over her shoulder at them as they approached, Victor saw that it was a girl from his English class, Mary. Mary was short and buxom with tiny hands and feet, and wore a light green dress that flattered her.

"Hi, Victor," Mary said with a smile, turning back to her work, "You're running late! We just finished counting ballots for king and queen." She held up a handful of the index cards before tossing them in the box.

"Ooh!" said Emily, even as Victor was saying, "Hi, Mary." They glanced at each other, then at the inner doors to the gym, which were propped slightly open. Victor could hear bits of conversation, smell the combination of varnish, cologne, and flowers.

"Give her the tickets so we can go in," Emily whispered. Victor frowned.

"Oh shoot," he muttered. He patted at his pockets. "Uh...well...I never got around to that. I...er...oh! I've got twenty dollars!"

"You can't buy tickets at the door for the prom," Emily and Mary said at the same exact time. Victor felt his cheeks redden.

"Oh," he said feebly, holding the limp twenty in his fist.

Mary, finished with her cards, finally turned around to fully face them. "We were selling tickets all week at lunch and after school, where have you been? And there were posters...all...over..."

Now that she finally had a good look at Emily, Mary's words got slower until they trailed off into nothingness. A full head shorter than Emily, she looked up at her open-mouthed. Victor could practically see her getting paler, shade by shade.

"Is it okay just this once?" Emily asked politely, cajolingly, taking a step toward Mary. Mary, in turn, backed up until she bumped the ticket table. "You have no idea what it's taken me to get here!"

Still gaping, eyes bugging from her head, Mary held out a trembling hand toward Victor. "It's fine," she squeaked. "Gimme the money."

Victor did as she asked. Mary was close to hyperventilating. She put a hand over her nose and mouth. Emily, seemingly unaware of the effect she was having, moved closer.

"Thank you _so much_!" she said, and reached out her skeletal hand to pat Mary's arm. Mary flinched but did not scream. "I was on the committee too, so I know the rules. Thanks for making an exception, you're a doll."

When she smiled broadly, the split in her cheek grew wider. Under the flourescent lights Emily looked more sickly green than blue, her eyes more yellow than white. Only now did Victor notice her teeth had moss on them. Mary sagged against the table, looking ready to faint. The twenty fluttered to the ground.

"Let's go," said Victor quietly, taking Emily's elbow. As he led her into the dark gymnasium, he could hear Mary whimpering behind them.

0–0

By the time Victoria made it back to the high school she was sweaty, disheveled, and her feet were aching in her heels. On the long walk her fervor had worn off a little. What precisely was she going to say? Was she really about to bust up Victor's prom date, fly off the handle in front of hundreds of people?

 _Yes!_ was the war cry of her heart. _No, never, I couldn't,_ replied her more sober brain. And all the while her feet just ached.

The blue Cadillac was still there, on the lawn by the main building. Mayhew leaned against the hood, smoking his pipe and looking up at the stars. When he heard her approach, he glanced her way. Immediately he looked concerned.

"Hello, Mr. Mayhew," Victoria said, breathless. Thanks to tennis she was in good shape, but it had been a long walk in a very tight girdle. She leaned as much as she dared against the hood of the car, just to take some pressure off her feet.

"Miss Everglot, fancy seeing you here," said Mayhew, taking his pipe from his mouth. He looked at her closely. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," said Victoria. She pushed a loose strand of hair out of her face. "Thank you. Victor is back, then?"

It was a struggle to keep her voice even. Under her palm the hood of the car was warm. The memory of her recent parking with Barry flitted into her mind just then, making her flush. She dropped her hand and stood up straighter, no longer using the car for support.

"Ye-es," Mayhew replied slowly. He was still giving her a funny look, not quite meeting her eye. "He's back. Fit as a fiddle."

"Oh. Good," said Victoria coolly. Or as coolly as she could muster. She gestured at the Cadillac. "Well enough to take someone to prom, I take it?"

"Oh, uh, yeah," Mayhew said uneasily. "But it's not what you...It's...she's got this kind of...uh... _condition_."

Oh, for heaven's sake, what next?

All at once Victoria felt tired. Bone tired. She wasn't ready to give up, but she didn't have to fight right now. Victor was home and safe, and he lived right across the street from her. She'd go see him tomorrow, without crowds and fuss. And without her smelling like another boy's cologne.

"Mr. Mayhew," Victoria said, brushing her hair out of her eyes again, "I hate to impose, but...would you mind awfully giving me a lift home?"

"Of course!" he replied, knocking the ashes from his pipe. "I can run you home and be back to pick up Victor in time, no problem." He stowed the pipe in his pocket, and then gave her that funny look again.

"And you're _sure_ you're all right?" he asked.

"Yes, positive," Victoria replied. She sighed. "It's a _very_ long story."

"Not the first time I've heard that tonight," Mayhew remarked, making Victoria cock an eyebrow. "Uh, before I get you home to your parents, though, you might...uh, you might want to freshen up a bit."

"Yes," Victoria replied dully. She probably looked a fright, all sweaty and exhausted. Just by touch she could tell her hair had frizzed out of control. Mother wouldn't be pleased. "Thank you so much. I'll be back in a moment."

Victoria glanced around to get her bearings, then headed for the gym. There must be a ladies' around here somewhere, with so many girls at the dance. An abandoned folding table and chair sat in the entryway. Through the propped door she could hear applause and laughter. She resisted the urge to peek in for a glimpse of Victor and his date.

Victoria glanced around but didn't see anyone, just a pile of index cards and a twenty-dollar bill on the floor. Hesitantly she made her way down the hallway opposite where the table was set up. It was lined with lockers and seemed to stretch forever into dim gloom. But a small sign above a water fountain had an arrow which pointed her toward "restrooms," so down the hall she went, her footfalls amplified in the empty hallway.


	14. Chapter 14

**14**

" _Oh_ ," breathed Emily once they were in the gym. She put a hand to her throat. "Oh. This is _beautiful_. Magical."

That was stretching it just a little, in Victor's opinion. Dozens of tinfoil stars hung from the ceiling, and white streamers flew from the basketball hoops. The tables around the periphery of the gym were swathed in dark blue cloths, the centerpieces filled with glitter. It was pretty enough. He was glad Emily was impressed.

"Stars, just like you said!" she remarked happily, noticing the ones hanging above them.

They'd made it just in time for the prom king and queen to be announced. All attention and all the lighting was focused on the little dais the prom committee had put up at the far side of the gym for the band. Victor and Emily edged along the outside of the crowd, keeping to the shadows. No one even turned to look at them. Laughter and chatter filled the air.

At last they found a good spot by the bleachers, out of the way but with a good view. They applauded along with everyone else when, to no one's surprise, Bob Vanderven and Betty Vandergrift were named king and queen.

"Do you know them?" Emily leaned in to ask. Victor nearly snorted. Bob and Betty were about as far outside his circle, such as it was, as it was possible to get.

"No," he replied. "Just _of_ them."

They really were a golden couple. _Life_ magazine would have chosen them for the perfect representatives of American youth. Fresh-faced and nice looking, blond, student council members, honor students, impeccably but not overly dressed, fake crowns on their heads, waving to the crowd. Emily leaned against him, gazing up at Bob and Betty on the dais. Was it envy in her face? Personally, Victor didn't envy them at all. He was happy right where he was, happy with the girl he was with, too.

"Just look at her dress," said Emily, almost to herself. "Beautiful. She looks like a queen." Victor noticed the way she held up a few tatters of her own now-old-fashioned gown, moth-eaten and rotted through. Victor gave her shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. A moment later he realized she couldn't feel it. But she saw his movement, and smiled up at him.

The band re-took the stage and announced the coronation dance. On the count of three, after Bob and Betty had got into position on the gym floor, they struck up a tune. An old-fashioned kind of tune, a waltz. Bob and Betty started off the dance, and soon other couples joined in. Emily fluttered her lashes at him.

"Remember your lesson?" she asked flirtatiously.

"I think so," he replied, trying to match her tone.

Arms about each other, they worked out a simple step. Emily rested her head on his shoulder. Victor, surprised, hesitantly rested his chin lightly against her hair, which smelled faintly of stagnant water. There in the shadows they swayed, not really waltzing at all. Aside from water, Emily smelled of dead leaves and just the slightest sweet smell of something pungent, but Victor didn't let it bother him. He let himself move with the music, with Emily, there in the dark shadows on the fringes of the crowd. Victor looked up at the ceiling.

Away from the crowd and light, the tinfoil stars _did_ look a little magical.

0–0

"Oh no," Victoria groaned once she got a look at herself in the mirror in the ladies room. She bit her lip. No wonder Mayhew had looked so worried and shocked.

She looked as if she'd tumbled down a hill. Her hair was frizzed and going every which way, the way it looked after a fitful night's sleep. Her lipstick had all rubbed off, leaving a smudgy ring around her mouth. Sweat had made her eye makeup smudge, such that she looked like a raccoon. Yet again her dress had slipped down, revealing more cleavage as well as the top of her bra-girdle. Victoria blushed bright red at the memory of the look Mayhew had given her. What must he have thought?

Only now did Victoria notice her dress was still a little unzipped. A gentleman would've taken care of that for her, she figured crossly. With a bit of twisting she managed to pull it part of the way back up. Enough to keep her dress up, anyway. She hoped.

Most mortifying of all, though, were the little marks on her neck. They were faint but definitely noticeable. They looked like little bruises. She leaned in over the sink, closer to the mirror.

"Oh _no_ ," she said again. While Victoria was inexperienced and was not popular at her school, she'd still overheard enough conversations in her dormitory to know what she was seeing. One just beneath her ear, one on her shoulder, and one more where Barry had kissed her last, right at the base of her neck. Quickly she fumbled for her handbag, and pulled out her powder compact. After a moment of dabbing, though, she gave it up as useless. The little marks shone like beacons through the powder to show what she'd been up to.

Victoria turned on the tap and splashed cold water on her face. From the dispenser she grabbed a fistful of paper towels, and she scrubbed at her face until she was finally free of all the paint Mother had caked on her. Then she started in on her neck, trying to get the powder and the aftershave mell off.

Maybe once she was clean she'd feel like herself again.

0-0

When the song ended, Victor and Emily stood embracing for a moment. Applause and a few cheers filled the air around them. At last, Emily lifted her head to smile up at him. That's when he noticed it.

"What? What's wrong?" Emily asked, seeing his look.

"Uh, it's just..." Victor said, pointing to her cheek, "you've lost a bit of...I mean...you've got a...thing. Missing."

The new split in the flesh of her good cheek, which had been growing all night, had finally opened all the way up. There mustn't have been much muscle left underneath her gray skin, because now her teeth were visible through the gash, just as they were on the other side of her face. A strip of skin dangled limply. Some, he noticed, had been left behind on his lapel. He tried not to gag.

Emily put up a hand and touched the new hole in her cheek. Her fingers found the hanging bit of skin.

"How's that for a mood-killer?" Emily asked sadly. Figuring she was being rhetorical, Victor didn't reply. He just discreetly flicked the flesh she'd left behind off of his coat.

"Let me just go to the powder room," she added, as if she just needed to comb her hair or put on more lipstick. "I'll see if I can fix it."

"Okay," Victor replied hesitantly. Should he chaperone her to the bathroom? Would that be weird? Couldn't she wait? He shook off his bad feeling. The dance was nearly over, the band had announced there would be one more short set. It was nearly ten.

"Do you remember where the bathroom is?" Victor thought to ask. Emily waved a hand carelessly.

"I'll find it," she assured him. "I'll be quick. Save the last dance for me!"

Gracefully Emily slipped into the shadows on the edges of the crowd, making for the doors where they'd come in. None of the couples she passed noticed her. From a distance, in the dark, she could almost be taken for alive.

He smiled, but a sad and wistful one. Then he sighed. _At least she got her prom night,_ he reasoned. _She looked so happy_.

"There he is!" came a voice, carrying over the music. Victor turned to see Mary. She had Mr. Hemmler with her.

Mr. Hemmler, rumpled and tired, his green chaperone badge crooked, sighed. He was using his cane tonight, Victor noticed. "Mr. Van Dort, Miss Stickley here is a little upset. She-"

" _Upset?!_ " Mary asked incredulously. Hands on hips, she faced Victor, looking up at him with a queer mix of annoyance and fear. Victor looked down at her. She was so short it hurt his neck to do so after a couple of seconds. He looked at Mr. Hemmler for help.

"She seems to think she saw a ghost," Mr. Hemmler said, sounding uncertain. Mary sputtered.

"Not a ghost!" she said indignantly, her glasses sliding down her nose. "A _corpse_! In a dress! With _makeup on_."

Victor kept his mouth shut. Mary pushed her glasses back up into place. Mr. Hemmler sighed. The band played on. A few curious kids, the few not dancing nor preparing to leave, had stopped to listen. Victor was starting to sweat a little.

"I saw her!" Mary cried. "A dead girl! Rotting and gross. Victor brought a corpse to the prom!"


	15. Chapter 15

**15**

Victoria gave her face one final swipe, and then leaned in to inspect herself in the mirror. Over her shoulder in the glass she saw something that made her blood run cold.

A dead girl had just walked into the bathroom.

Victoria whirled around, holding onto the sink for support. "Oh!" she gasped, as close as she could come to a scream. She clamped her hand over her mouth.

"Ugh, I know, hideous, isn't it?" the corpse said. She strolled right up to the sink next to Victoria's and regarded herself in the mirror. Victoria watched her, stupefied.

The dead girl was tall, nearly a head taller than she was. What skin remained was grayish blue, but looked green in the harsh light of the bathroom. Bones showed through in places. Her lipstick was blood red. Victoria could see the girl's teeth and jaw through the holes in either side of her face. Her hair was blue, but still held its finger wave. Her dress was worn through in places, and had a slit up one side that revealed most of a skeletal leg. It had a deep v-neck, and there might once have been gauzy sleeves attached. Victoria knew. She'd seen pictures of her own mother as a teenager, twenty years ago. Dress and hair, this girl looked very similar.

Victoria supposed she was playing this "date-the-corpse" game in order to suppress the knowledge that she was in a bathroom with a walking dead person. She took a deep breath.

A strip of flesh was hanging off of the dead girl's face, revealing meat and bone and a row of mossy teeth beneath. She looked critically at it for a minute. Victoria swallowed the bile that was creeping up her throat.

"Hmph," said the corpse. In a perfectly normal, not at all scary voice. "No fixing this, I don't think."

So saying, she pulled the strip of flesh all the way off her face. Victoria, transfixed, wanted to turn away but couldn't. She watched as the corpse discreetly wrapped the flesh she'd pulled from her cheek in a paper towel before tossing it in the trash can.

Victoria slowly became aware that she was starting to hyperventilate. Her heart was beating fast as a mouse's. She trembled all over. Her knees were knocking together. Every instinct she had was telling her to scream and run, to distance herself quickly from death. But bizarrely, she didn't want to be rude.

"Is it really bad?" the dead girl asked, turning to face her full-on. Her eyes were so strange in that rotting face. They weren't milky and dead. They were aware, they were nearly sparkling under the flourescents. Somehow, that was comforting.

Victoria swallowed. She examined the dead girl's face, bone showing through in places, moldy in others, both cheeks split open and nearly gone for good.

"N-no," she lied, trying to be nice. "You'd never know."

The dead girl smiled sadly. "You're just being nice," she said. She sighed gustily. Victoria could have sworn she saw ribs and a bit of lung through a hole in the girl's dress.

"It's awful, being dead," the corpse added.

So she _did_ know. Victoria had been beginning to wonder. She regarded this walking corpse, not a ghost or a monster, but just a dead human being, standing at the sink next to hers. And she stopped trembling.

"I wish I was still like you," said the girl, running a skeletal hand through her hair. "Rosy cheeks, beating heart. Stuff to plan for. A tomorrow. Sounds so stupid and simple, doesn't it? I miss it a lot."

For a brief moment a horrible wound was exposed on the side of her head. Victoria stifled a gasp. Hearing her, the girl turned a bit and looked her up and down. Never once in Victoria's life had another girl looked at her with anything approaching envy. She was a little flattered despite herself.

Suddenly the girl let her hand drop, and a weird expression came over her face. Her gaze was focused on Victoria's neck. Quickly Victoria slapped a hand over the worst hickey, the one at the base of her neck, but she wasn't quick enough.

"Were you necking in the parking lot?!" the dead girl asked gleefully.

0–0

A small crowd had begun to gather around Victor. The band had played its last song to a smattering of applause, and had begun to pack up. Most of the students had already filtered out. Cars could be heard starting up and peeling away out in the parking lot. The handful of kids who were left were either prom committee or student council or both. Victor's graduating class only had sixty people, so he knew most of them, if vaguely.

"Miss Stickley, perhaps you made a mistake," Mr. Hemmler said tiredly. With a loud snap and whine the lights suddenly came up in the gym, making everyone blink against the glare.

"It's _true!_ " Mary insisted over the noise of the band carting their equipment out the double doors. The drummer and the guitarist glanced curiously over their shoulders at her as they left. "I saw her! Standing right next to Victor! A dead girl!"

Victor opened his mouth to reply, but Martin, a short buck-toothed kid with slightly buggy eyes, beat him to it. "How was she standing if she's dead?" he asked.

"I don't know, but she was!" Mary replied, then pointed a finger at Victor. "Ask him, why don't you!"

Martin looked up at Victor. "So how was she standing if she's dead?" he asked. Victor sighed quietly.

"Look," he said to the group at large, trying to sound calm and reasonable. "it's not what it looks like, okay? I mean, it's true she's dead. But she's not dead _really_. You know?"

Everyone just stared at him. Victor was starting to get warm under his collar. He tugged at his bow tie.

Nora, a small girl with a prematurely jowly face, appeared next Martin. "What's going on?" she asked. Then, seeing Mr. Hemmler, added, "By the way, Mr. Hemmler, one of the fuses blew when I turned the lights back on."

"Great," said Mr. Hemmler under his breath, his words lost under Martin's reply of, "Victor Van Dort brought a dead girl to prom."

"Ew," said Nora. She turned to Victor and gave him a long look up and down. "Why did you do that?"

"Because she asked me to," Victor answered lamely. He ground the heels of his hands into his forehead in frustration. Briefly he wondered what on earth was taking Emily so long. Had she fallen in?

"So how does she talk if she's dead?" asked Martin curiously. Victor wished he would shut up.

"I don't know," replied Victor. "But she does. It's like she's alive in some ways and not in others. I know it's weird, but-"

Before he could finish, a skinny girl with a slightly horsey face elbowed past Martin and Nora to talk to Mary. Her name was Gertrude, and she'd gone to school with Victor since kindergarten.

"I just heard that Victor killed a girl from Burtonsville, dressed her up, and brought her to prom in a stolen Cadillac," Gertrude announced. Then she noticed Victor standing there. "Oh, hi," she said.

"Hi," he replied.

"Sally said she got it from you," Gertrude told Mary. Mary sniffed, and yet again pushed her glasses up her nose.

"I didn't mention _anything_ about a Cadillac," she said haughtily. "Sally's making stuff up." Gertrude rolled her eyes.

"Oh come on," said Gertrude's boyfriend, Al, who'd come up behind her. He was tall and slender and had a little mustache that made him look like a Cuban band leader. He too had gone to school with Victor for years. He put an arm around Gertrude's waist. "I'm sure this is some crazy mix-up. Victor Van Dort would never kill anybody. Right, Victor?"

All eyes were on him, a mix of curiosity and impatience, and, in the case of Martin, oddly intense interest. Even Mr. Hemmler, leaning heavily on his cane, was paying attention.

"Okay," said Victor, holding up his hands. "Okay. This is what happened."

0–0

"Is it fun?" asked the dead girl from behind her. Without being asked she tugged Victoria's zipper the rest of the way up, and then fastened the clasp for her. Bone and cold, papery flesh brushed against Victoria's bare shoulderblades.

"Oh! Thank you," said Victoria, glancing at the girl in the mirror. "Is what fun?"

"Necking," replied the dead girl wickedly, in a conspiratorial kind of whisper. "I've never done it."

This was surreal. Victoria was in a situation where _she_ was the more experienced girl. And she was chatting easily in the bathroom with another girl. How many times over the years had she wished for this kind of thing to happen? The corpse was watching her eagerly.

"Um, yes," Victoria told her awkwardly, the memory making her blush. "Yes, it is." A slightly hysterical giggle escaped her before she could stop herself, and the dead girl joined in.

Once they'd stopped laughing, the dead girl smiled ruefully. "Another thing I missed out on," she said. Victoria turned to face her, no idea what to say. All she could do was offer a look of sympathy. The corpse fiddled with the dead flowers at her breast.

"Neck while you can enjoy it," she advised lightly, with another little grin. Victoria tried to grin back.

"So...who, uh...who are you here with?" Victoria asked after a moment. It seemed a lot more polite than the actual question running through her mind, which was, _How are you up and talking and walking when you are so clearly dead?!_

The girl smiled a lovely smile that lit up her face. She looked a lot less dead then, in that moment. Victoria could see how pretty she must have been when she was alive.

"A boy named Victor," the dead girl said happily.

The world seemed to grind to a halt at those words. All the pieces fell into place and the realization hit Victoria like a ton of bricks. She swallowed, then gasped, then swallowed again. Victor's pale, terrified face at the country club. A girl rising up out of the water. His disappearance. A girl with a "condition."

"You're the zombie!" Victoria blurted. The girl blinked.

"The what?" she asked with an uncertain kind of giggle.

"Nothing," said Victoria. She bit her lip, thinking. There were still a few holes, but finally Victoria thought she had the full story. _Oh, Victor_ , she thought, unsure of how to feel. The girl looked at her curiously for another moment, then turned back to the mirror for one last primp.

"I'd better get back out there before the band leaves," the dead girl said. "I'd love one more dance. Nice to meet you!"

"You too," Victoria replied dazedly, imagining Victor dancing in a dark gym with this dead prom date.

The corpse gave her a little wave of farewell, and then left the bathroom. Victoria watched the door swing shut in the mirror. Then she snatched her bag from the edge of the sink, made sure her hair was smooth, and then followed Victor's corpse date out of the bathroom, heading for the gymnasium.


	16. Chapter 16

**16**

"And that's it," finished Victor. He looked around at his audience. A row of wide-eyed stares looked back at him. There was an awkward silence. "Any...any questions?" he asked stupidly, unsure of what else to say.

"You rose the dead," said Nora at last, giving him that slow elevator look again.

"You took a corpse on a pity date," said Martin.

"You've been to the land of the dead," said Gertrude.

"You rose the _dead_ ," said Al.

"I told you so!" said Mary triumphantly.

It was on the tip of Victor's tongue to tell them that these were not questions, but Mr. Hemmler stepped toward him before he could speak. Never had Victor seen the vice principal look so drawn and serious.

"Where did you say this happened?" he asked in a hoarse kind of voice. Victor told him again. Mr. Hemmler swallowed.

"If this is some kind of joke, Mr. Van Dort, it is in very poor taste indeed," he said grimly.

"B-b-but it's _not_!" Victor cried, throwing up his hands. "I swear I am telling you the truth."

"Oh my God," gasped Mary suddenly. "Look! Look, I _told_ you!"

Everyone turned in the direction she was pointing. There was a collective jaw drop. Martin's already buggy eyes bugged out even further.

Emily had just strolled into the gym.

With the harsh lighting and without the crowd to cover for her, it was hard to mistake her for anything but what she was—an ambulatory rotting corpse. But she was an ambulatory rotting corpse with _feelings_. Victor wanted everyone to realize that.

"Oh _no_ ," she said as she approached the group. "It's over already!"

She threaded her arm through Victor's. "Sorry we missed the last dance," she added to him. Victor patted her hand and gave her what he hoped was a reassuring grin.

"It's okay," he told her. Then he turned to the group. "Everyone," he said, "this is Emily."

Everyone else had taken a step backward, and were openly staring. They'd made a little huddle, as though for protection.

"Hello," said Emily, raising a bony hand in greeting. Martin's eyes looked ready to fall out of his head. Nora put a hand to her mouth. Al and Gertrude just stared. Everybody was pale, but nobody screamed or fainted or tried to run. Emily took their reactions in cheerful stride.

"Oh, hi again," Emily added, noticing Mary. Instead of replying, Mary just sidled closer to Nora, probably ready to use her as a human shield if need be.

"It can't be," put in Mr. Hemmler. He was staring at her more intently than anyone. He was also the only one who hadn't taken a step away when she'd walked in. Emily looked at him when he spoke. Victor glanced over at her, curious, when she gasped.

"You," Emily said, her voice just barely above a whisper. She let go of Victor's arm and put both of her hands to her chest.

"You," said Mr. Hemmler, with the exact same inflection.

Victor glanced back and forth between them. Out of respect at what he saw, he took a quick couple of steps backward. And found himself next to Victoria. He did a double take.

"Victoria?" he asked stupidly.

She looked fresher, cleaner, more herself than she had through the clubhouse window. He had been so prepared to have lost her, to never speak to or stand this near to her ever again. He'd also been prepared to be angry if he ever _did_ see her again. But now that she was actually beside him, all he felt was relief.

"Hi," she said quietly, with an awkward half-smile.

"Why...what are you doing here?" he whispered, wondering how and why and when she'd ditched Barry.

"Looking for you," she whispered back, a shy sort of note in her voice.

He had about a million more questions for her. She probably had a million for him as well. But somehow this didn't seem quite the right moment. Unsure of what to do, he decided to focus on the scene unfolding between the dead girl and the assistant principal. As did Victoria. He noticed when he looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

Mr. Hemmler moved first. Limping with his cane, he slowly closed the short distance between himself and Emily. Emily, moving equally slowly, put out a skeletal hand. She touched his chaperone badge.

"Oh, Georgie," she breathed. "You're a chaperone?"

"I'm the Assistant Principal," he replied, his voice halfway between a self-deprecating laugh and a self-deprecating sob.

"Oh!" said Emily, hand to her mouth. She was trying to stifle a laugh, Victor saw. "George. Assistant Principal. I hope you're nicer than old man Rich was."

"I—I try," said Mr. Hemmler, laughing a little.

An odd little circle had formed around the pair. There was Victor and Victoria, side by side but not looking at one another. Gertie and Al, attached at the hands as they always were. Nora and the lone stag, Martin. Mary, who seemed annoyed that the outcome of all this wasn't more dramatic. All of them watched this strange reunion under the humming of florescent lights and the gently swaying tinfoil stars.

"Emily," said Mr. Hemmler. Judging by his tone he'd forgotten students were watching. Or else he knew these were the students who would never say a word. "I am so, so sorry."

Emily reached and put a hand on his chest. He started a little, but then placed a gentle hand around her skeletal wrist.

"I forgive you," she said softly. "It wasn't your fault, George. It was an accident. I've never blamed you."

At those words, Mr. Hemmler started to cry freely. He didn't make a sound, but tears were flowing down his face. None of the gathered students knew quite where to look. Mostly at the floor or the ceiling.

"And look, I got to go to prom after all!" Emily said in a comforting way. She took Mr. Hemmler's hand in both of hers. "I got my wish. And it was magical."

After a minute Victor realized that everyone was staring at him again. He felt his cheeks get hot. Looking at Mr. Hemmler, he remembered how he'd wondered about Emily's boyfriend. Who'd crashed the car. Who'd tried unsuccessfully to help her. Who'd survived. How that must have felt. Carrying around all that guilt. And his limp, the physical reminder of the terrible night he'd watched Emily die. Victor swallowed.

"Thank you," Mr. Hemmler told Victor. Victor had the feeling he was thanking him for much more than simply taking Emily to prom.

"My pleasure," Victor replied, glad his voice held. "Really."

Emily turned that lovely smile on him and tilted her head. Her gaze was fond.

"I had a wonderful time, Victor," she told him. "You were so sweet to bring me."

His heart twisted in a not entirely unpleasant way. "I had fun," he said honestly. Then he paused. He tugged awkwardly at his bow tie. He was very aware of all the eyes on him, of how close and quiet Victoria was.

"Er...what now?" Victor asked Emily. "Prom is over."

"Time to go home," Emily replied. Rather mysteriously, Victor thought. She glanced at Mr. Hemmler, who cleared his throat. A profound look passed between them.

"I'll take you," said Mr. Hemmler. "Wherever you're going." Emily smiled.

"You don't mind?" she asked Victor. He shook his head. So far as he was concerned, Mr. Hemmler and Emily had unfinished business. Victor's with Emily was done. He'd made good on his promise.

But at the same time, it was hard to believe that this was it. Really it, this time. His last glimpse of her. It wasn't like someone moving away or going off to college. He'd never see Emily again. Or speak to her. Or write. This was really a final goodbye, which seemed impossible and somehow unfair after all that had happened.

Something of what he was feeling must have shown on his face, because he felt Victoria move closer to him. In fact, he was hyper-aware of her presence. In that moment, he was absolutely certain that what he'd felt for Victoria had not changed one bit. And with her here, beside him, no matter how she'd wound up here, Victor was also certain that her feelings for him hadn't changed either.

He took a good long look at Emily standing hand-in-hand with Mr. Hemmler, and decided that whatever muck-up there had been, he and Victoria would get over it. Life was too short and unpredictable to do otherwise. He held out his hand to Victoria, and she took it. They squeezed at the same time.

Emily noticed, he saw, and he saw the realization dawn. But she didn't say a word. She just gave Victor a knowing, conspiratorial grin that scrunched up her dead features. With her free hand, she made the air quotes gesture. Victor grinned back.

Victor and Victoria, hand in hand, watched as Mr. Hemmler escorted Emily out of the gym. She matched her pace to his limp, letting him lean on her for support. As she passed them, Emily nodded sweetly to Victor, and then met Victoria's eye. Maybe he was imagining it, but he thought he saw a meaningful look pass between them.

"Goodbye," Emily said to Victoria.

"Goodbye," Victoria replied. "And thank you." Victor looked down at her curiously, but she just smiled.

Silence fell over the remaining group once Emily and Mr. Hemmler disappeared though the double-doors. The gym lights whined. A loose streamer fluttered free from a basketball hoop. There was a distant, soft clunk as a star came loose from its wire and descended to the gym floor.

"Where are they going?" Martin asked, breaking the spell. Everybody turned toward him. "Do you think he's going to take her to the graveyard and bury her? You don't think he's going to... _off_ himself, do you? Like Romeo?"

"Oh, shut up, Martin," said Gertrude mildly. Martin, looking hurt, did so. To Victor, she said, "That was a nice thing you did."

There was a chorus of solemn nods. Victoria squeezed his hand, and touched his back briefly in a sweet gesture. Victor smiled down at her.

"It was nothing," he said, embarrassed.

"Wow, poor Mr. Hemmler," said Nora. "I always thought he had a war wound."

There was a silence, as they all digested what they'd just seen.

"If anybody asks," Al suddenly said to the group at large, "she had a skin condition, right? Just a crazy mixup and girl from another school, with a skin condition. We don't want any weird rumors about zombies or voodoo or murder getting started, do we?"

As one, everybody turned to Mary. After a moment she heaved a gusty sigh.

"Oh fine," she said. "I made a mistake. It was a really bad skin condition." Mary looked awfully disappointed to lose out on such a prime piece of strange gossip, but Victor appreciated her gesture nonetheless. Al's, too.

"Come on, then, gang," she went on, startling everyone with her sudden businesslike manner. "Let's get out of here. Clean-up is tomorrow morning at ten sharp!"

With that, she, Nora and Martin went to collect their things and headed out. Gertrude and Al followed quickly, and Victor and Victoria fell in behind them.

"There's an after-party at my house, if you want to come," said Gertrude to Victor as they went out. "You can come, too," she added to Victoria.

"Thank you," Victoria said politely.

At last, it was just Victor and Victoria, standing in the fresh air outside the gym. The stars were out, a glittery blanket overhead. Much better than tinfoil ones. All the cars but the Cadillac had left the lot. There wasn't any sign of Emily or Mr. Hemmler, either. Victor decided that his work was done, his promise kept-it wasn't really any of his business now.

He'd miss her, though.

There was a long pause. Victor was so aware of Victoria standing beside him he was somehow afraid they'd cause a spontaneous combustion, just out of sheer unacknowledged energy.

At the same time they turned to look at one another. At the exact same instant their eyes locked.

"How was your date?" Victor asked. Under her questioning look, he rubbed at the back of his neck. "I saw you. At the club."

"Fine," she said, a blush in her voice. It was too dark to see her cheeks. "How was yours?"

"Fine," he answered.

There was a brief silence. Victoria broke it.

"All the time I wanted to be with you," she told him.

"All I could think about was getting back to you," he replied. He looked at her closely, fondly.

"Do...do you still want to go steady?" Victor asked, taking the liberty of an arm around Victoria's waist. To his pleasure she responded in kind, putting an easy, warm arm about him.

"I do," Victoria said, looking at him from under her eyelashes. "If you do."

"I do," Victor told her. And, before he could overthink it, he leaned down and pressed his lips against hers. It was short and sweet and simple, and a much better way to seal a pact than an old Cub scout pin.

"Can we give you a ride home?" Victor asked, gesturing toward Mayhew and the Cadillac.

"I'd love it," she said. Still with their arms about each other, they fell into step, leaning into each other as if the other could dissolve at any moment.

There'd be plenty of time to talk about it, this whole crazy adventure. For now, he was home, he was alive, he was with Victoria again, and he'd made a dead girl and a sad man very happy. Not too bad for a prom night, really.

Mayhew was behind the wheel, listening to the radio with his arm out the open window. As Victor and Victoria approached he waved.

"So you two found each other, then," he said, tipping his hat. "Where's your other date?"

Victor opened the rear door for Victoria and handed her in. As he climbed in after her and closed the door he replied, "It's a long story."

"Story of my night," said Mayhew as he put the car in gear.


	17. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

August began hot and muggy, the air almost wet and heavy enough to swim through. Way too uncomfortable for a ball game. Billy was sweating through his t-shirt as he cycled through town on his Saturday morning paper route.

August already. School on the horizon. Mom had uttered the dreaded words "back to school shopping" yesterday. Billy shuddered even in the heat. Boy, he sure was a lot less chipper than he had been back in May. But he'd sure saved up a lot of money.

Billy lobbed his last paper into Mr. Hemmler's yard, and then turned his bike around at the base of Nob Hill. Too hot for baseball, but it'd be nice and cool at the five and ten. Billy's paper money was burning a whole in his pocket.

He pedaled back toward town at a leisurely pace. It was too hot to go fast.

0–0

Victoria's hair always refused to set when the weather was humid. So today she put her hair up in a simple bun instead, curling her bangs to the side in a way she'd never tried before. Today's lunch at the club would be her first event since she'd got back from charm school. As expected, she'd passed with flying colors, despite the pleasurable distraction of daily postcards to and from Victor while she'd been away.

She stepped into her simple summer dress, in a light blue that flattered her. She wondered if she should bring her swimming things as well, just in case there was the opportunity for a swim after lunch. This heat was terrible.

And Victor hadn't seen her in a swimsuit yet. Grinning, Victoria took her swim bag out of her closet.

Mother had been angry over Victoria's botched date with Barry. Even more angry that it was Victor who'd escorted her home from said date. Actually, angry didn't quite cover it. Furious. Well, nuclear. But Victoria also thought there was some grudging respect. Victoria had proven that she was not a pushover. After a few half-hearted attempts to keep Victor and Victoria apart, Mother had given up.

"On your own head be it," she'd said ominously when she'd seen the pile of correspondence Victoria had come home from charm school with.

"All right, Mother," Victoria had replied cheerfully.

Everything had had a happy ending, though. One night at the club before Victoria had left, she and her parents had run into Barry and the judge. Barry had a new girl on his arm. Tall and trim and dark and impeccably dressed. A diamond glinted on her ring finger. Barry knew her from the club where he and his family summered up at the lake. He'd taken her out for lunch when he realized they were both back in town.

"It just so happened I had some extra cash on me, even," he added, with a quick, amused look at Victoria. She looked at her shoes and tried not to blush.

"Much better prospect this time," the Judge had said in an undertone to Mother. Mother's polite social smile was frozen on her face even as she turned a painful-looking shade of purple. But Victoria didn't mind. Barry was nice enough. She was happy for him.

Footsteps in the hall made her look up.

"Time to go, Victoria," Dad told her on his way by her open bedroom door. Victoria stepped into her shoes, picked up her bag, and trotted out to join him.

0-0

Victor was melting in the country club lounge. He wished there weren't so many hot dishes at this luncheon. The already heavy air was made heavier and more fragrant with cream sauces. He decided to go wait for Victoria by the piano in the hall outside instead. Only a few pairs of eyes followed his progress out of the room.

Oddly enough, the fallout from bringing a dead girl to the prom, as well as visiting the land of the dead, had been minor. It was amazing, the way people made up their own stories and stuck to them. Victor barely had to lie.

"Pretty, was she?" Dad had asked one night in July as they were locking up the store.

"Yeah," replied Victor honestly.

"Glad you had some fun," Dad had said with a wink, nudging Victor in the ribs. And that's all they'd said on the matter.

Mom was a slightly harder sell. Eventually she'd convinced herself that she'd been dreaming when she saw Emily on the porch. All the stress Victor had caused had made her hallucinate. Mom was always glad to blame things on the stress that Victor caused her. But she was thrilled that Victor and Victoria were solidly, officially a couple now, so she was willing to forgive him.

Victor was pretty thrilled that he and Victoria were a solid, official couple, too. Every now and again he thought of Emily, thought of that crazy prom night. He hoped she was finally peaceful and at rest. And he hoped it would be a good long time before he saw the land of the dead again.

Mayhew never said a word about what actually happened. Neither did any of the kids who'd been at the prom. All the whispers and rumors had been confined to the fact that Victor had disappeared overnight with a girl. But even those were mild. And, strangely, seemed to garner a bit of respect for him among people in town who'd always thought he was a bit of a weirdo loner.

As for Mr. Hemmler, Victor and Victoria had gone to see him the day after graduation. She'd brought a potted plant, he a bag of cannoli. They wanted to know what had happened to Emily.

"I can't really explain," Mr. Hemmler had told them. "We walked to the cemetery—we used to walk over there all the time, it was quiet—to where her plot was. Just a stone. They never...you know."

Victor nodded. An empty grave. Emily'd been stuck in that car, way down in the river, for ages.

"We talked. Just a bit. And then...then she was gone."

A strange silence had fallen over them then, as if they were at a wake. Which they were, in a way. Victor hadn't pressed for any more details. It seemed too personal.

"Wow," Victoria said quietly as they left.

"Yeah," Victor had agreed. And that was all they'd said about it.

It seemed like a fitting end. Everything nicely tied up. Victoria had another year of school to go. Victor started college in the fall. Now that he knew his private college was in the same town as Victoria's boarding school, he didn't feel nearly as bad that his place there had been purchased.

They'd both be leaving in a week. On the same train.

"Almost like it was meant to be!" Mom had chirped to Mrs. Everglot over drinks at the club one night while Victoria was away. Victoria's mom had turned pale purple and drained her martini in one gulp.

"Hi," came Victoria's voice, breaking into Victor's thoughts. He looked over and smiled to see her, lovely in a flattering blue dress. It wouldn't do to kiss in public—particularly not with Mrs. Everglot staring daggers at him as she went into the lounge—so they touched fingers instead.

"Let's go get some air," Victoria said, fanning at her face. "It's awful in here."

Victor agreed. They went out the back door onto the terrace, leaving the oppressive heat and smell of chicken a la king behind them.

Together they sat on a bench, catching just the faintest of breezes coming off the river. The air smelled of the water. The scent mixed with that of Victoria's soap. This was just like that night at the beginning of summer. The night of Emily. Unlike then, though, the two of them were a couple. Now they sat together chummily and easily, committed, friends and more.

Victor patted his pocket. Victoria noticed his movement and looked up at him questioningly. As good a time as any, he figured.

"Victoria, this is...I've got...my class ring," he said awkwardly, holding it out to her. "Would you—if you'd—you know. If you want to wear it."

While they'd been steady for a while, Victor still thought this would be a nice gesture. Something solid to give her to cement their relationship. A token for her to have. After all, he still had the bulb of that tulip she'd given him, in a pretty pot on his desk. He planned to take it to college with him.

"I would," Victoria smiled now. "Very much."

The ring was big and looked heavy on her slender finger, but it didn't seem to bother her. She put her fingers against his face when they kissed.

"Shall we go back in?" she asked as they pulled apart.

Behind them, at the base of the hill, the lazy river lapped against its banks under Dead Man's Bridge. Quiet today.

 **The End.**


End file.
